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The  Autobiography 
of  a  Super-Tramp 


THE  NEWEST  BORZOI  BOOKS 

ASPHALT 

By  Orrick  Johns 

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THE  JOURNAL  OF  LEO  TOLSTOI  (1895- 

1899) 
THE  COLLECTED  POEMS  OF 
WILLIAM  H.  DAVIES 

r 

THE  AVTOBIOGRAPHY 

OF  A  SVPER- TRAMP 

BY   WILLIAn  H.  DAVIES 
PREFACE  BY  BERMARDSHAW 


NEW  YORK 


f\CT\Ky\\ 


ALFRED   A.   KNOPF 


^     -J  -*•  •••  •••  i        1  •••  •••  •••  I . 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
WILLIAM  H.  DAVIES 


FKINTKD    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


T  Preface  by  D^^A^ 

Bernard  Shaw 


PREFACE 

I  HASTEN  to  protest  at  the  outset  that  I  have  no 
personal  knowledge  of  the  incorrigible  Super- 
tramp  who  wrote  this  amazing  book.  If  he  is 
to  be  encouraged  and  approved,  then  British  morality- 
is  a  mockery,  British  respectability  an  imposture,  and 
British  industry  a  vice.  Perhaps  they  are :  I  have 
always  kept  an  open  mind  on  the  subject;  but  still 
one  may  ask  some  better  ground  for  pitching  them 
out  of  window  than  the  caprice  of  a  tramp. 

I  hope  these  expressions  will  not  excite  unreason- 
able expectations  of  a  thrilling  realistic  romance,  or 
a  scandalous  chronicle,  to  follow.  Mr.  Davies'  auto- 
biography is  not  a  bit  sensational:  it  might  be  the 
Post  Office  Directory  for  the  matter  of  that.  A  less 
simple  minded  supertramp  would  not  have  thought 
it  worth  writing  at  all;  for  it  mentions  nothing  that 
might  not  have  happened  to  any  of  us.  As  to  scan- 
dal, I,  though  a  most  respectable  author,  have  never 
written  half  so  proper  a  book.  These  pudent  pages 
are  unstained  with  the  frightful  language,  the  de- 
based dialect,  of  the  fictitious  proletarians  of  Mr. 
Rudyard  Kipling  and  other  genteel  writers.  In 
them  the  patrons  of  the  casual  ward  and  the  doss- 

[vii] 


Preface 

house  argue  with  the  decorum  of  Socrates,  and  nar- 
rate in  the  style  of  Tacitus.  They  have  that  pleas- 
ant combination  of  childish  freshness  with  scrupu- 
lous literary  conscientiousness  only  possible  to  people 
for  whom  speech,  spoken  or  written,  but  especially 
written,  is  still  a  feat  to  be  admired  and  shewn  off 
for  its  own  sake.  Not  for  the  life  of  me  could  I 
capture  that  boyish  charm  and  combine  it  with  the 
savoir  vivre  of  an  experienced  man  of  the  world, 
much  less  of  an  experienced  tramp.  The  innocence 
of  the  author's  manner  and  the  perfection  of  his 
delicacy  is  such,  that  you  might  read  his  book  aloud 
in  an  almshouse  without  shocking  the  squeamishness 
of  old  age.  As  for  the  young,  nothing  shocks  the 
young.  The  immorality  of  the  matter  is  stupen- 
dous; but  it  is  purely  an  industrial  immorality.  As 
to  the  sort  of  immorality  that  is  most  dreaded  by 
schoolmistresses  and  duennas,  there  is  not  a  word  in 
the  book  to  suggest  that  tramps  know  even  what  it 
means.  On  the  contrary,  I  can  quite  believe  that 
the  author  would  die  of  shame  if  he  were  asked  to 
write  such  books  as  Adam  Bede  or  David  Copper- 
field. 

The  manuscript  came  into  my  hands  under  the 
following  circumstances.  In  the  year  1905  I  re- 
ceived by  post  a  volume  of  poems  by  one  William 
H.  Davies,  whose  address  was  The  Farm  House, 
Kennington  S.  E.  I  was  surprised  to  learn  that 
there  was  still  a  farmhouse  left  in  Kennington;  for 

[viii] 


Preface 

I  did  not  then  suspect  that  the  Farmhouse,  like  the 
Shepherdess  Walks  and  Nightingale  Lanes  and 
Whetstone  Parks  of  Bethnal  Green  and  Holborn,  is 
so  called  nowadays  in  irony,  and  is,  in  fact,  a  doss- 
house,  or  hostelry  where  single  men  can  have  a 
night's  lodging  for,  at  most,  sixpence. 

I  was  not  surprised  at  getting  the  poems.  I  get 
a  gift  of  minor  poetry  once  a  week  or  so;  and  yet, 
hardened  as  I  am  to  it,  I  still,  knowing  how  much 
these  little  books  mean  to  their  authors,  can  seldom 
throw  them  aside  without  a  twinge  of  compunction 
which  I  allay  by  a  glance  at  one  of  the  pages  in  the 
faint  but  inextinguishable  hope  of  finding  something 
valuable  there.  Sometimes  a  letter  accompanies  the 
book;  and  then  I  get  a  rapid  impression,  from  the 
handwriting  and  notepaper  as  well  as  from  the  bind- 
ing and  type  in  the  book,  or  even  from  the  reputation 
of  the  publisher,  of  the  class  and  type  of  the  author. 
Thus  I  guess  Cambridge  or  Oxford  or  Maida  Vale 
or  West  Kensington  or  Exeter  or  the  lakes  or  the 
east  coast;  or  a  Newdigate  prizeman,  a  romantic 
Jew,  a  maiden  lady,  a  shy  country  parson  or  whom 
not,  what  not,  where  not.  When  Mr.  Davies'  book 
came  to  hand  my  imagination  failed  me.  I  could 
not  place  him.  There  were  no  author's  compliments, 
no  publisher's  compliments,  indeed  no  publisher  in 
the  ordinary  channel  of  the  trade  in  minor  poetry. 
The  author,  as  far  as  I  could  guess,  had  walked 
into  a  printer's  or  stationer's  shop;  handed  in  his 

[ix] 


Preface 

manuscript;  and  ordered  his  book  as  he  might  have 
ordered  a  pair  of  boots.  It  was  marked  "price  half 
a  crown."  An  accompanying  letter  asked  me  very 
civilly  if  I  required  a  half-crown  book  of  verses; 
and  if  so,  would  I  please  send  the  author  the  half 
crown:  if  not,  would  I  return  the  book.  This  was 
attractively  simple  and  sensible.  Further,  the  hand- 
writing was  remarkably  delicate  and  individual :  the 
sort  of  handwriting  one  might  expect  from  Shelley 
or  George  Meredith.  I  opened  the  book,  and  was 
more  puzzled  than  ever;  for  before  I  had  read  three 
lines  I  perceived  that  the  author  was  a  real  poet. 
His  work  was  not  in  the  least  strenuous  or  modern : 
there  was  in  it  no  sign  that  he  had  ever  read  any- 
thing later  than  Cowper  or  Crabbe,  not  even  Byron, 
Shelley  or  Keats,  much  less  Morris,  Swinburne, 
Tennyson,  or  Henley  and  Kipling.  There  was  in- 
deed no  sign  of  his  ever  having  read  anything  other- 
wise than  as  a  child  reads.  The  result  was  a  free- 
dom from  literary  vulgarity  which  was  like  a  draught 
of  clear  water  in  a  desert.  Here,  I  saw,  was  a  gen- 
uine innocent,  writing  odds  and  ends  of  verse  about 
odds  and  ends  of  things,  living  quite  out  of  the 
world  in  which  such  things  are  usually  done,  and 
knowing  no  better  (or  rather  no  worse)  than  to  get 
his  book  made  by  the  appropriate  craftsman  and 
hawk  it  round  like  any  other  ware. 

Evidently,  then,  a  poor  man.     It  horrified  me  to 
think  of  a  poor  man  spending  his  savings  in  print' 

[x] 


Preface 

ing  something  that  nobody  buys :  poetry,  to  wit.  I 
thought  of  Browning  threatening  to  leave  the 
country  when  the  Surveyor  of  Taxes  fantastically 
assessed  him  for  an  imaginary  income  derived  from 
his  poems.  I  thought  of  Morris,  who,  even  after 
The  Earthly  Paradise,  estimated  his  income  as  a 
poet  at  a  hundred  a  year.  I  saw  that  this  man  might 
well  be  simple  enough  to  suppose  that  he  could  go 
into  the  verse  business  and  make  a  living  at  it  as 
one  makes  a  living  by  auctioneering  or  shopkeeping. 
So  instead  of  throwing  the  book  away  as  I  have 
thrown  so  many,  I  wrote  him  a  letter  telling  him  that 
he  could  not  live  by  poetry.  Also,  I  bought  some 
spare  copies,  and  told  him  to  send  them  to  such 
critics  and  verse  fanciers  as  he  knew  of,  wondering 
whether  they  would  recognise  a  poet  when  they  met 
one. 

And  they  actually  did.  I  presently  saw  in  a 
London  newspaper  an  enthusiastic  notice  of  the 
poems,  and  an  account  of  an  interview  with  the  au- 
thor, from  which  I  learnt  that  he  was  a  tramp; 
that  "the  farm  house"  was  a  dosshouse;  and  that 
he  was  cut  off  from  ordinary  industrial  pursuits  by 
two  circumstances:  first,  that  he  had  mislaid  one 
of  his  feet  somewhere  on  his  trampings,  and  now 
had  to  make  shift  as  best  he  could  with  the  other; 
second,  that  he  was  a  man  of  independent  means — 
a  rentier — in  short,  a  gentleman. 

The  exact  amount  of  his  independent  income  was 
[xi] 


Preface 

ten  shillings  a  week.  Finding  this  too  much  for 
his  needs,  he  devoted  twenty  per  cent  of  it  to  pen- 
sioning necessitous  friends  in  his  native  place;  saved 
a  further  percentage  to  print  verses  with;  and  lived 
modestly  on  the  remainder.  My  purchase  of  eight 
copies  of  the  book  enabled  him,  I  gathered,  to  dis- 
card all  economy  for  about  three  months.  It  also 
moved  him  to  offer  me  the  privilege  (for  such  I 
quite  sincerely  deem  it)  of  reading  his  autobiography 
in  manuscript.  The  following  pages  will  enable  the 
world  at  large  to  read  it  in  print. 

All  I  have  to  say  by  way  of  recommendation  of 
the  book  is  that  I  have  read  it  through  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  and  would  have  read  more  of  it  had 
there  been  any  more  to  read.  It  is  a  placid  narra- 
tive, unexciting  in  matter  and  unvarnished  in  man- 
ner, of  the  commonplaces  of  a  tramp's  life.  It  is 
of  a  very  curious  quality.  Were  not  the  author  an 
approved  poet  of  remarkable  sensibility  and  deli- 
cacy I  should  put  down  the  extraordinary  quietness 
of  his  narrative  to  a  monstrous  callousness.  Even 
as  it  is,  I  ask  myself  with  some  indignation  whether 
a  man  should  lose  a  limb  with  no  more  to-do  than 
a  lobster  loses  a  claw  or  a  lizard  his  tail,  as  if  he 
could  grow  a  new  one  at  his  next  halting  place !  If 
such  a  thing  happened  to  me,  I  should  begin  the 
chapter  describing  it  with  "I  now  come  to  the  event 
which  altered  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  and 
blighted,  etc.,  etc."     In  Mr.  Davies'  pages  the  thing 

[xii] 


Preface 

happens  as  unexpectedly  as  it  did  in  real  life,  and 
with  an  effect  on  the  reader  as  appalling  as  if  he 
were  an  actual  spectator.  Fortunately  it  only  hap- 
pened once:  half  a  dozen  such  shocks  would  make 
any  book  unbearable  by  a  sensitive  soul. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  should  describe  our  super- 
tramp  as  a  lucky  man  or  an  unlucky  one.  In  making 
him  a  poet,  Fortune  gave  him  her  supremest  gift; 
but  such  high  gifts  are  hardly  personal  assets:  they 
are  often  terrible  destinies  and  crushing  burdens. 
Also,  he  chanced  upon  an  independent  income: 
enough  to  give  him  reasonable  courage,  and  not 
enough  to  bring  him  under  the  hoof  of  suburban 
convention,  lure  him  into  a  premature  marriage,  or 
deliver  him  into  the  hands  of  the  doctors.  Still, 
not  quite  enough  to  keep  his  teeth  in  proper  repair 
and  his  feet  dry  in  all  weathers. 

Some  flat  bad  luck  he  has  had.  I  suppose  every 
imaginative  boy  is  a  criminal,  stealing  and  destroy- 
ing for  the  sake  of  being  great  in  the  sense  in  which 
greatness  is  presented  to  him  in  the  romance  of  his- 
tory. But  very  few  get  caught.  Mr.  Davies  un- 
fortunately was  seized  by  the  police;  haled  before 
the  magistrate;  and  made  to  expiate  by  stripes  the 
bygone  crimes  of  myself  and  some  millions  of  other 
respectable  citizens.  That  was  hard  luck,  certainly. 
It  gives  me  a  feeling  of  moral  superiority  to  him; 
for  I  never  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  police — at 
least  they  did  not  go  on  with  the  case  (one  of  in- 

[xiii] 


Preface 

cendiarism),  because  the  gentleman  whose  property 
I  burnt  had  a  strong  sense  of  humour  and  a  kindly 
nature,  and  let  me  off  when  I  made  him  a  precocious 
speech — the  first  I  ever  delivered — on  the  thought- 
lessness of  youth.  It  is  remarkable  what  a  differ- 
ence it  makes,  this  matter  of  the  police;  though  it  is 
obviously  quite  beside  the  ethical  question.  Mr. 
Davies  tells  us,  with  his  inimitable  quiet  modesty, 
that  he  begged,  stole,  and  drank.  Now  I  have 
begged  and  stolen;  and  if  I  never  drank,  that 
was  only  an  application  of  the  principle  of  division 
of  labour  to  the  Shaw  clan;  for  several  members  of 
it  drank  enough  for  ten.  But  I  have  always  man- 
aged to  keep  out  of  the  casual  ward  and  the  police 
court;  and  this  gives  me  an  ineffable  sense  of  superior 
respectability  when  I  read  the  deplorable  confessions 
of  Mr.  Davies,  who  is  a  true  poet  in  his  disregard 
for  appearances,  and  is  quite  at  home  in  tramp  wards. 
Another  effect  of  this  book  on  me  is  to  make  me 
realise  what  a  slave  of  convention  I  have  been  all 
my  life.  When  I  think  of  the  way  I  worked  tamely 
for  my  living  during  all  those  years  when  Mr. 
Davies,  a  free  knight  of  the  highway,  lived  like  a 
pet  bird  on  titbits,  I  feel  that  I  have  been  duped  out 
of  my  natural  liberty.  Why  had  I  not  the  luck,  at 
the  outset  of  my  career,  to  meet  that  tramp  who  came 
to  Mr.  Davies,  like  Evangelist  to  Christian,  on  the 
first  day  of  his  American  pilgrim's  progress,  and 
saved  him  on  the  very  brink  of  looking  for  a  job, 

[xiv] 


Preface 

by  bidding  him  to  take  no  thought  for  the  morrow; 
to  ask  and  it  should  be  given  to  him;  to  knock  and 
it  should  be  opened  to  him;  and  to  free  himself 
from  the  middle  class  assumption  that  only  through 
taking  a  ticket  can  one  take  a  train.  Let  every 
youth  into  whose  hands  this  book  falls  ponder  its 
lesson  well,  and,  when  next  his  parents  and  guardians 
attempt  to  drive  him  into  some  inhuman  imprison- 
ment and  drudgery  under  the  pretext  that  he  should 
earn  his  own  living,  think  of  the  hospitable  country- 
sides of  America,  with  their  farm-houses  overflow- 
ing with  milk  and  honey  for  the  tramp,  and  their 
offers  of  adoption  for  every  day  labourer  with  a  dash 
of  poetry  in  him. 

And  then,  how  much  did  I  know  about  hotels  un- 
til I  read  this  book  I  I  have  often  wondered  how 
the  poor  travel;  for  it  is  plain  that  the  Ritzes  and 
Metropoles,  and  even  the  hotels  noted  by  Baedeker 
as  "unpretending,"  are  not  for  them.  Where  does 
the  man  with  sixpence  in  his  pocket  stay^  Mr. 
Davies  knows.     Read  and  learn. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  Mr.  Davies  is  no  propa- 
gandist of  the  illusions  of  the  middle-class  tramp 
fancier.  You  never  suspect  him  of  having  read 
Lavengro,  or  got  his  notions  of  nomads  from  Mr. 
Theodore  Watts  Dunton.  He  does  not  tell  you 
that  there  is  honour  among  tramps :  on  the  contrary, 
he  makes  it  clear  that  only  by  being  too  destitute 
to  be  worth  robbing  and  murdering  can  a  tramp  in- 

[XV] 


Preface 

sure  himself  against  being  robbed  and  murdered  by 
his  comrade  of  the  road.  The  tramp  is  fastidious 
and  accomplished,  audacious  and  self-possessed;  but 
he  is  free  from  divine  exploitation:  he  has  no  orbit: 
he  has  the  endless  trouble  of  doing  what  he  likes 
with  himself,  and  the  endless  discountenance  of 
being  passed  by  as  useless  by  the  Life  Force  that 
finds  superselfish  work  for  other  men.  That,  I  sup- 
pose, is  why  Mr.  Davies  tramps  no  more,  but  writes 
verses  and  saves  money  to  print  them  out  of  eight 
shillings  a  week.  And  this,  too,  at  a  moment  when 
the  loss  of  a  limb  has  placed  within  his  reach  such 
success  in  begging  as  he  had  never  before  dared  to 
dream  of  I 

Mr.  Davies  is  now  a  poet  of  established  reputation. 
He  no  longer  prints  his  verses  and  hawks  them:  he 
is  regularly  published  and  reviewed.  Whether  he 
finds  the  change  a  lucrative  one  I  venture  to  doubt. 
That  the  verses  in  The  Soul's  Destroyer  and  in  his 
New  Poems  will  live  is  beyond  question;  but  whether 
Mr.  Davies  can  live  if  anything  happens  to  his 
eight  shillings  a  week  (unless  he  takes  to  the  road 
again)  is  another  matter.  That  is  perhaps  why  he 
has  advised  himself  to  write  and  print  his  autobi- 
ography, and  try  his  luck  with  it  as  Man  of  Letters 
in  a  more  general  sense.  Though  it  is  only  in  verse 
that  he  writes  exquisitely,  yet  this  book,  which  is 
printed  as  it  was  written,  without  any  academic  cor- 
rections from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Perfect  Com- 

[xvi] 


Preface 

mercial  Letter  Writer,  is  worth  reading  by  literary 
experts  for  its  style  alone.  And  since  his  manner  is 
so  quiet,  it  has  been  thought  well  by  his  friends  and 
his  publishers  to  send  a  trumpeter  before  him  the 
more  effectually  to  call  attention  to  him  before  he 
begins.  I  have  volunteered  for  that  job  for  the  sake 
of  his  poems.  Having  now  done  it  after  my  well 
known  manner,  I  retire  and  leave  the  stage  to  him. 

G.  B.  S. 
Ayot  St.  Lawrence.     1907. 


[xvli] 


Contents 


Preface  by  G.  Bernard  Shaw 

CHAPTER 

I.  Childhood,  1 

II.  Youth,  12 

III.  Manhood,  23 

IV.  Brum,  32 

V.  A  Tramp's  Summer  Vacation,  39 

VI.  A  Night's  Ride,  46 

VII.  Law  in  America,  56 

VIII.  A  Prisoner  His  Own  Judge,  66 

IX.  Berry  Picking,  77 

X.  The  Cattleman's  Office,  87 

XI.  A  Strange  Cattleman,  101 

XII.  Thieves,  112 

XIII.  The  Canal,  119 

XIV.  The  House-Boat,  126 
XV.  A  Lynching,  138 

XVL  The  Camp,  147 

XVII.  Home,  157 

XVIIL  Off  Again,  168 

XIX.  A  Voice  in  the  Dark,  178 

XX.  Hospitality,  192 

XXL  London,  197 

XXII.  The  Ark,  213 

Ixix] 


Contents 

CHAPTER 

XXIII. 

Gridling,  227 

XXIV. 

On  the  Downright,  242 

XXV. 

The  Farmhouse,  254 

XXVI. 

Rain  and  Poverty,  267 

XXVII. 

False  Hopes,  274 

XXVIII. 

On  Tramp  Again,  283 

XXIX. 

A  Day's  Companion,  296 

XXX. 

The  Fortune,  303 

XXXI. 

Some  Ways  of  Making  a  Living,  310 

XXXII. 

At  Last,  317 

XXXIII. 

Success,  329 

XXXIV. 

A  House  to  Let,  338 

[XX] 


The  Autobiography 
of  a  Super-Tramp 


The    Autobiography    of 
a   Super-Tramp 


CHAPTER  I 

CHILDHOOD 

1WAS  born  thirty-five  years  ago,  in  a  public 
house  called  the  Church  House,  in  the  town  of 
N ,  in  the  county  of  M .     It  was  kept 

by  my  grandfather,  native  of  Cornwall,  a  retired  sea 
captain,  whose  pride  it  was,  drunk  or  sober,  to  in- 
form all  strangers  that  he  had  been  master  of  his 
own  ship,  the  said  ship  being  a  small  schooner.  In 
those  days   there  was  a  steam  packet,   called  the 

Welsh   Prince,   trading   regularly   between   N 

and  Bristol,  and  in  the  latter  town  we  had  relatives 
on  my  grandmother's  side.  The  fact  of  the  matter 
was  that  my  grandmother  belonged  to  Somerset,  and 
she  often  paid  a  visit  to  three  maiden  sisters,  first 
cousins  of  hers,  living,  I  believe,  near  Glastonbury, 
who  had  a  young  relative  that  had  gone  on  the  stage, 
and  was  causing  some  stir  under  a  different  name 
from   his   own,    which    was   Brodrib.     My   grand- 

[1] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

mother  held  very  strong  opinions  about  the  stage, 
and  when  these  first  cousins  met,  no  doubt  the  young 
man,  in  those  early  days,  was  most  severely  discussed, 
and,  had  he  not  been  a  blood  relation,  would  have 
been  considered  a  sinner  too  far  advanced  for  prayer. 

My  earliest  recollection  is  of  being  taken  as  a 
small  boy  with  an  elder  brother  to  Bristol  on  the 
Welsh  Prince  by  my  grandfather.  I  believe  the 
frequency  of  these  trips  was  mainly  owing  to  the 
friendship  existing  between  the  two  captains,  as 
my  grandfather  seldom  left  the  bridge,  taking  a 
practical  part  in  the  navigation  of  the  ship  and 
channel — except  at  times  to  visit  the  saloon  cabin 
for  a  little  refreshment. 

On  one  trip  we  had  a  very  stormy  passage,  and  on 
that  occasion  the  winds  and  the  waves  made  such 
a  fool  of  the  Welsh  Prince  that  she — to  use  the 
feminine  gender,  as  is  the  custom  of  every  true 
mariner,  of  one  of  whom  I  am  a  proud  descendant — 
often  threatened  to  dive  into  the  bowels  of  the  deep 
for  peace.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  my  grand- 
father assisted  the  captain  of  the  Welsh  Prince  to 
such  purpose  that  people  aboard  acclaimed  him 
as  the  saviour  of  their  lives,  and  blessed  him  for  the 
safety  of  the  ship.  It  is  not  therefore  to  be  won- 
dered at  when  the  old  man  ashore,  returning  at 
midnight  from  this  rough  voyage  with  me  and  my 
brother,  would  frequently  pause  and  startle  the 
silent  hour   with   a  stentorian   voice   addressed   to 

[2] 


Childhood 

indifferent  sleepers — "Do  you  know  who  I  am? 
Captain  Davies,  master  of  his  own  ship."  Whether 
the  police  were  awed  by  this  announcement,  or  knew 
him  to  be  an  honest,  respectable  man  with  a  few 
idiosyncrasies,  I  cannot  say;  but  it  was  apparent  to 
me  in  those  young  days  that  they  assisted  him  home 
with  much  gentleness,  and  he  was  passed  on  care- 
fully from  beat  to  beat,  as  though  he  were  a  case 
of  new  laid  eggs. 

Alas  I  the  Welsh  Prince  became  childish  in  her 
old  age.  She  would  often  loiter  so  long  in  the 
channel  as  to  deceive  the  tide  that  expected  her, 
and  to  disappoint  a  hundred  people  who  assembled 
on  the  bridge — under  which  she  moored — to  welcome 
her.  What  with  her  missing  of  tides,  her  wander- 
ing into  strange  courses,  her  sudden  appearance  in 
the  river  after  rumours  of  loss,  her  name  soon  be- 
came the  common  talk  of  the  town.  Her  erratic 
behaviour  became  at  last  so  usual  that  people  lost 
all  interest  as  to  her  whereabouts,  or  whither  she 
had  wandered,  and  were  contented  to  know  that  she 
arrived  safe,  though  late.  They  were  not  curious 
to  know  if  she  had  been  dozing  in  a  fog  or  had 
rested  for  a  day  or  two  on  a  bank  of  mud;  what- 
ever she  had  done,  she  had  been  too  wary  to  collide, 
and,  being  too  slow  to  dash  through  the  waves,  had 
allowed  them  to  roll  her  over  with  very  little  power 
of  resistance.  These  things  happened  until  she  was 
condemned  and  sold,  and  her  mooring  place  to  this 

[3] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

day  is  unoccupied  by  a  successor.  When  I  now 
cross  the  bridge  and  look  down  on  her  accustomed 
place,  I  think  with  tender  emotion  of  the  past. 
After  the  Welsh  Prince  had  been  deposed  in  her 
old  age,  accused  of  disobeying  captain  and  crew, 
charged  with  being  indifferent  to  her  duties,  and  for- 
getful of  her  responsibilities — ^her  captain,  losing 
his  beloved  ship,  idled  a  few  months  ashore  and  died. 
No  doubt  he  had  grown  to  love  her,  but  she  had  gone 
beyond  the  control  of  living  man,  and  a  score  of  the 
best  seamen  breathing  could  not  have  made  her 
punctual  to  her  duties ;  therefore  he  could  not  reason- 
ably answer  the  charges  made  against  her.  Some 
other  company,  it  was  rumoured,  had  chartered  her 
for  the  Mediterranean,  which  would  certainly  be 
much  better  for  her  time  of  life;  the  Mediterranean 
being  so  large  a  body  of  water  as  compared  with 
the  Bristol  Channel,  would  allow  her  more  scope 
for  manoeuvres.  But  all  this  was  idle  talk,  probably 
a  profane  sneer  at  her  old  age,  for  it  was  told  me 
by  an  eye-witness,  that  she  was  run  ashore  in  an 
isolated  pool  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  stripped 
unceremoniously  of  her  iron,  and  her  wood-work 
burned.  It  is  only  a  few  years  ago  since  the  river 
was  hers,  but  her  name  is  seldom  mentioned  at  the 
present  day. 

It  was  through' being  born  in  a  public  house  that 
I  became  acquainted  with  the  taste  of  drink  at  a 
very  early  age,   receiving  sups  of  mulled  beer  at 

[4] 


Childhood 

bed  time,  in  lieu  of  cocoa  or  tea,  as  is  the  custom  in 
more  domestic  houses.  So  that,  after  my  school 
days  were  over,  I  required  but  very  little  induce- 
ment to  drink. 

At  last  the  old  people,  being  tired  of  business  and 
having  a  little  property,  retired  into  private  life; 
my  father,  whom  I  cannot  remember,  being  dead, 
and  my  mother  marrying  the  second  time,  much 
to  the  old  folks'  annoyance.  Their  own  children 
having  all  died,  they  kindly  offered  to  adopt  us 
three  children,  the  only  grandchildren  they  had;  and 
mother,  knowing  that  such  would  be  to  our  future 
benefit,  at  once  agreed.  When  we  were  settled  in 
private  life  our  home  consisted  of  grandfather,  grand- 
mother, an  imbecile  brother,  a  sister,  myself,  a  maid- 
servant, a  dog,  a  cat,  a  parrot,  a  dove,  and  a  canary 
bird.  I  remember  those  happy  days,  and  often  wish 
I  could  speak  into  the  ears  of  the  dead  the  grati- 
tude which  was  due  to  them  in  life,  and  so  ill 
returned. 

My  school  days  began,  but  I  played  truant  day 
after  day,  and  the  m-aidservant  had  to  lead  me  as 
a  prisoner  to  school.  Although  small  of  figure  I 
was  a  good  athlete,  and  so  often  fighting  that  some 
of  my  relatives  thought  that  prize  fighting  was  of 
a  certainty  to  be  my  future  vocation.  Mother's 
father  and  brothers  all  took  great  interest  in  pugilism, 
and  they  knew  the  game  well  from  much  practice 
of  their  own.     They  were  never  so  much  delighted 

[5] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

as  when  I  visited  them  with  a  black  eye  or  a  bloody 
nose,  at  which  time  they  would  be  at  the  trouble 
to  give  cunning  points  as  to  how  to  meet  an  opponent 
according  to  his  weight  and  height.  "He  certainly 
has  the  one  thing  essential,"  they  affirm,  one  to  the 
other,  "  and  that  is  the  heart.  Without  that  experi- 
ence would  be  of  no  account,  but  with  that  it  will  be 
the  making  of  him."  If  I  took  off  my  coat  to  battle 
in  the  streets,  the  shirt  itself  came  off  in  the  lanes 
and  fields.  When  attending  school  I  would  accom- 
pany a  dozen  or  more  boys  "following  the  leader." 
Needless  to  say,  I  was  the  leader;  and,  being  a  good 
jumper,  would  leap  over  ditches  that  would  try  every 
nerve  in  my  body.  Two  or  three  would  follow  a 
little  less  successfully,  and  then  we  would  bully  and 
threaten  the  less  active  to  make  the  attempt.  Often 
we  had  to  drag  them  out  by  the  hair  o-f  the  head, 
and  it  was  in  this  condition  that  they  were  led  back 
to  school  late — always  late.  The  dirtiest  boy,  who 
had  had  the  most  pressure  put  upon  him,  and  was 
truly  the  most  gentle  and  least  guilty  of  us  all — 
would  be  punished  the  most  severely  for  these  esca- 
pades, owing  to  his  dirtier  condition;  and  most  likely 
receive  more  punishment  afterwards  at  home. 
Strange  th-at  I  was  not  a  bad  scholar,  and  that  I 
passed  all  my  standards  with  ease.  In  the  last  year 
of  my  school  days  I  became  captain  of  the  school's 
football  team,  and  was  honoured  and  trusted  by 
being  allowed  to  take  charge  of  the  ball,  but  owing 

[6] 


Childhood 

to  making  private  use  of  the  same,  and  practising 
in  secret  with  boys  of  other  schools,  I  was  requested 
by  the  Committee  to  forfeit  my  trust,  although  I 
might  still  continue  captain  as  aforesaid.  If  I  had 
been  contented  with  these  innocent  honours,  and  had 
not  been  so  ambitious  to  excel  in  other  and  more 
infamous  parts,  all  would  have  been  well,  and  my 
schooldays  would  have  been  something  of  a  credit 
to  me.  But  unfortunately,  at  this  time,  I  organised 
a  band  of  robbers,  six  in  number,  and  all  of  good 
families  and  comfortable  homes.  It  was  our  wont 
to  enter  busy  stores,  knowing  that  small  boys  would 
not  be  attended  to  until  the  grown  people  had  fin- 
ished their  purchases.  Then  we  would  slyly  take 
things  up  for  a  curious  examination,  at  the  same 
time  watching  a  favourable  opportunity  to  surrep- 
titiously appropriate  them.  When  accosted  by  the 
shopman  as  to  our  wants  we  would  innocently  ask 
the  price  of  some  article  we  had  agreed  on,  and  re- 
ceiving answer,  would  quietly  leave  the  premises. 
This  went  on  for  some  time,  and  I  had  nefariously 
profited  by  a  large  assortment  of  miscellaneous  ar- 
ticles, such  as  paints,  brushes,  books,  bottles  of  scent 
and  various  other  items  that  could  not  be  preserved, 
such  as  sweets  and  confectionery.  How  this  con- 
tinued for  six  weeks  speaks  well  for  our  well  laid 
plans,  and  our  dexterity  in  the  performance  of 
them.  My  girl,  Maggie,  who  had,  during  our  early 
acquaintance,  received  only  presents  of  wild  flowers 

[7] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

and  birds'  eggs,  and  occasionally  a  handful  of  nuts, 
was  not  the  happy  possessor  of  valuable  presents 
in  the  shape  of  purses,  pocket  books,  bottles  of 
scents,  pencils  of  silver,  not  to  mention  having  re- 
ceived a  hundred  different  sorts  of  sweets  and  cake 
that  was  superior  to  her  mother's.  Time  after  time 
she  promis^ed  not  to  betray  me;  or  any  of  my  con- 
federates. The  latter  often  warned  me  against  re- 
posing confidence  in  the  other  sex.  One  produced 
a  book,  at  that  very  moment,  which  told  how  a 
woman  betrayed  a  gUng  of  robbers;  and  it  was  his 
firm  opinion  that  the  other  sex  could  not  be  trusted 
farther  than  they  could  be  seen. 

At  home  I  was  cured  of  thieving  by  what  I  thought 
at  that  time  to  be  a  very  remarkable  incident — no 
more  or  less  than  the  result  of  witchcraft.  One 
day  my  grandmother  happened  to  be  standing  be- 
fore the  fire  cooking,  and  above  the  fireplace  was 
a  large  mirror,  towards  which  her  eyes  were  turned. 
Thinking  this  a  favourable  opportunity  to  rifle  the 
sugar  basin,  I  lost  no  time  in  making  the  attempt; 
but  my  fingers  had  scarcely  closed  on  a  large  lump 
when  the  old  lady,  without  in  the  least  turning  her 
head,  cried  in  a  shrill  voice,  "You  dare  I"  For  my 
life  I  could  not  account  for  this  discovery,  and  it 
sent  such  a  shock  through  me  that  I  never  again 
attempted  in  the  old  lady's  presence  to  be  other  than 
honest.  She  could  close  her  eyes  in  the  arm  chair 
and  even  breathe  audibly,  but  I  never  had  the  con- 

[8] 


Childhood 

fidence  to  make  another  attempt.  But  this  incident 
at  home  had  no  detrimental  effect  on  my  courage 
abroad. 

One  day  I  and  my  lieutenant  played  truant  from 
school,  and  making  our  way  up  town,  began  to  ex- 
ecute various  little  plans  that  had  been  concocted 
the  night  before.  After  several  desperate  sorties  on 
confectionery,  with  our  usual  success,  we  began  to 
meditate  on  higher  game.  We  blundered  at  a  cigar 
case  in  a  chemist  shop,  and  had  to  leave  our  spoils 
behind.  Although  fearful,  we  entered  a  large  gro- 
cery store,  and  were  having  great  success,  when  my 
lieutenant  dropped  a  bottle  of  scent,  and  not  hav- 
ing the  presence  of  mind  to  stand  his  ground  and 
make  it  appear  an  accident,  made  a  guilty  rush 
through  the  open  door.  I  followed  him  at  once,  and 
catching  him  up,  got  clear  ahead.  But  the  hue 
and  cry  was  out,  and  every  one  shouted,  "Stop 
thieves  I"  This  terrible  cry,  taken  up  by  one  and 
another,  took  all  the  strength  out  of  our  legs,  and 
our  own  sheer  terror  brought  us  to  a  halt.  In  five 
minutes  we  were  captured  and  crying  over  our  ill 
luck  in  a  prison  cell.  We  made  a  confession  of 
everything,  and  the  rest  of  the  gang  were  soon  un- 
der arrest.  Our  houses  were  visited  by  detectives 
and  searched,  and  different  articles  found  in  cup- 
boards, drawers,  desks,  and  chests  which  were  soon 
identified  by  the  shopkeepers.  Maggie,  at  the  in- 
stigation of  her  mother,  gave  several  articles  to  the 

[9] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

police,  with  information,  proving  to  me,  even  in 
those  early  days,  how  little  her  sex  was  to  be  trusted. 
The  unfortunate  part  of  this  was  that  we  all  had 
good  homes.  My  grandfather  would  most  cer- 
tainly have  paid  a  fine  of  twenty  or  thirty  pounds 
to  save  me  from  punishment,  and  offered,  I  believe, 
to  do  the  same.  Alas  I  the  magistrates  were  inex- 
orable, and  I  and  my  lieutenant  were  sentenced  each 
to  twelve  strokes  with  the  birch  rod,  whilst  the 
other  four,  not  being  caught  red-handed,  received 
six  strokes  each.  I  do  not  at  present  feel  much  re- 
morse for  those  desperate  times,  but  often  think  of 
the  disgrace  to  parents.  The  kindly  admonishment 
of  my  schoolmaster  made  me  shed  the  real  tears  of 
repentance,  not  being  forced  from  me  by  any  thought 
of  punishment.  This  ended  my  schooldays;  and 
after  the  breaking  up  of  our  gang,  I  was  not  allowed 
much  liberty,  our  elders  being  afraid  of  a  reorgani- 
sation. When  I  was  allowed  out  for  an  hour's  play, 
strict  injunctions  were  given  me  not  to  leave  our 
own  door,  and  this  was  not  much  to  my  liking.  In 
the  dark  winter  evenings  I  would  sit  with  my  grand- 
father, my  brother  and  sister,  painting  ships  or  read- 
ing before  a  large  fire  that  was  never  allowed  to 
burn  below  its  highest  bar.  My  grandfather,  with 
his  old  habits,  would  pace  slowly  up  and  down  the 
half  dark  passage,  shutting  himself  out  in  the  cold. 
Every  now  and  then  he  would  open  the  front  door 
to  look  at  the  stars  or  to  inform  himself  from  what 

[10] 


Childhood 

latitude  the  wind  blew.  The  wind  never  changed 
without  his  knowledge;  for  this  wary  mariner  in- 
variably surprised  it  in  the  act  of  doing  so.  Three 
or  four  times  in  the  evening  he  would  open  the 
kitchen  door  to  see  that  his  family  were  comfortable, 
as  though  he  had  just  made  his  way  from  the  hurri- 
cane deck  to  enquire  after  the  welfare  of  passengers 
in  the  cabin.  When  this  was  done,  the  old  lady 
would  sometimes  say,  rather  peevishly,  "Francis,  do 
sit  down  for  a  minute  or  two."  Then  he  would 
answer  gruffly,  but  not  unkindly — "Avast  there, 
Lydia,"  closing  the  door  to  begin  again  his  steady 
pacing  to  and  fro. 

At  this  time  I  had  a  boy  companion,  named  Dave, 
who  was  a  great  reader,  had  enough  self-confidence 
to  recite  in  public,  and  was  a  wonderful  raconteur 
of  tales.  Great  things  were  expected  of  him  in 
after  years.  I  have  heard  since  that  intemperance 
prevented  their  fulfilment,  but  we  were  too  innocent 
in  those  days  to  think  that  such  would  be  the  case. 
Through  him  I  became  a  reader,  in  the  first  place 
with  an  idea  of  emulating  his  cleverness,  which  led 
to  a  love  of  literature  for  its  own  self.  Of  course  I 
began  with  the  common  penny  novel  of  the  worst 
type,  but  acquired  a  taste  for  better  work  in  a  shorter 
time  than  boys  usually  do. 


[11] 


CHAPTER  II 

YOUTH 

LIFE  was  very  irksome  to  me  at  this  period,  be- 
ing led  to  chapel  morning  and  evening  on 
Sundays,  and  led  back ;  having  the  mortifica- 
tion of  seeing  other  boys  of  the  same  age  enjoying 
their  liberty.  The  only  way  to  alter  these  condi- 
tions was  to  apply  for  work.  This  was  soon  done, 
hiring  myself  out  to  an  ironmonger,  at  a  weekly  wage 
of  five  shillings.  The  old  people  now  began  to  take 
a  pride  in  me,  advising  me  to  study  my  master's 
interests,  and  without  doubt  succeed  to  his  business 
at  his  decease.  My  brother,  two  years  my  senior, 
who,  as  I  have  said  before,  was  odd  in  his  behaviour, 
took  example  by  me,  and  succeeded  in  being  em- 
ployed at  a  large  clothing  establishment.  It  was 
there  and  then  that  he  began  and  finished  his  life's 
work  in  half  a  day.  Having  been  sent  to  the  dock 
with  a  large  parcel  valued  at  two  pounds  ten  shil- 
lings, he  found  on  arrival  that  the  Belsy  Jane  was 
moored  in  the  middle  of  the  dock.  My  brother, 
seeing  this,  and  not  being  blessed  with  inventive 
faculties,  placed  the  parcel  on  the  quay  and  returned 
to  his  master.     Naturally  the  shopkeeper  thought 

[12] 


Youth 

it  was  safely  delivered,  until  the  captain  of  the 
Betsy  Jane,  coming  straight  from  his  ship,  entered 
the  shop  to  make  enquiries  about  his  goods.  My 
brother,  having  a  clear  conscience,  explained  mat- 
ters in  his  simple  way  to  the  open  eyed  astonish- 
ment of  his  hearers.  The  result  was  a  summary 
dismissal,  and  a  letter  to  my  grandfather  requesting 
him  to  make  good  the  loss  of  the  parcel ;  which  was 
duly  done,  my  grandfather  being  extremely  afraid 
of  the  law.  The  old  people  would  never  admit 
that  my  brother  was  different  from  other  boys,  al- 
though it  was  apparent  not  only  to  grown  folk,  but 
to  the  smallest  child  in  the  street.  Some  days  be- 
fore the  affair  just  mentioned  my  grandmother,  hav- 
ing to  answer  the  door,  ordered  my  brother  to  watch 
some  fish,  which  was  being  prepared  for  dinner. 
When  she  returned,  the  cat  was  enjoying  a  good 
meal  under  the  sofa.  To  the  old  lady's  cry  of 
"Francis,  did  I  not  tell  you  to  watch  the  fish,"  my 
brother  answered  truthfully:  for  he  always  told  the 
truth  and  did  what  he  was  told — "So  I  did,  grand- 
mother, and  the  cat  took  it."  If  she  had  explained 
to  him  properly  why  she  wanted  the  fish  watched, 
at  the  same  time  making  special  mention  of  a  cat's 
partiality  for  fish,  no  doubt  he  would  have  watched 
to  better  purpose. 

Nothing  could  have  happened  better  than  this 
instance  of  the  loss  of  the  ship's  goods  to  undeceive 
my  grandfather  as  to  my  brother's  state  of  mind. 

[13] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

A  sudden  blaze  of  intelligence  broke  in  on  the  old 
man's  mind,  which  was  not  of  the  most  brilliant 
kind.  "Lydia,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "there's  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  boy;  to  think  he  did  not  have 
sense  enough  to  shout,  Ship  ahoy."  I  ventured  to 
say,  to  show  my  cleverness,  that  there  might  have 
been  several  ships  in  the  middle  of  the  dock,  and 
they  would  have  all  answered  to  Ship  ahoy.  Would 
it  not  have  been  better  to  cry,  Betsy  Jane,  ahoy*? 
The  old  man  paused  thunderstruck.  "Avast  there," 
he  cried,  "drop  anchor:  will  ye  have  more  pud- 
ding?' 

In  our  street  almost  every  woman  had  some  one 
connected  with  the  sea,  and  it  was  my  grandfather's 
pleasure  by  day  to  parade  the  street  and  inform  the 
women  as  to  what  winds  and  tides  were  favourable 
to  their  husbands  or  sons.  One  woman  had  a  hus- 
band that  had  sailed  away  in  a  barque,  which  was 
never  sighted  or  hailed  after  leaving  port,  and  was 
now  three  months  overdue.  My  grandfather  feared 
to  meet  this  sailor's  wife,  and  would  often  peep 
around  his  door,  trying  to  escape  consultation  from 
her,  knowing  well  his  own  forebodings  as  to  the  fate 
of  the  barque  and  her  crew. 

I  have  mentioned  Dave,  who  was  a  very  studious 
lad,  and  who  became  my  one  companion  and  the 
sharer  of  my  dreams.  He  had  received  an  old  copy 
of  Byron,  and  we  both  became  fascinated  by  the 
personality  of  that  poet.     His  influence  on  Dave 

[14] 


Youth 

was  so  great  that  it  was  publicly  shown  to  all  the 
boys  and  girls  in  the  chapel's  schoolroom,  where  we 
had  gathered  for  childish  games,  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  elders.  While  we  were  playing  kiss 
in  the  ring,  singing  and  laughing,  dancing  with  mer- 
riment, when  small  white  teeth,  red  lips  and  bright 
eyes  were  all  the  rage — Dave  would  lean  his  figure 
(not  so  tall  as  he  would  like  it)  against  a  pillar, 
biting  his  lips  and  frowning  at  our  merry-making. 
None  but  myself  knew  that  his  troubles  and  sor- 
rows were  purely  imaginary,  but  they  certainly  suc- 
ceeded in  causing  some  sensation,  even  the  notice 
of  the  elders  being  drawn  to  him.  Some  time  after 
this  we  had  more  trouble  with  Dave,  when  we  went 
for  a  day's  trip  to  the  sea-side.  On  this  occasion 
he  took  his  own  path  across  the  sands,  a  solitary 
figure,  with  his  head  bowed,  and  when  we  called 
him  he  would  not  heed  us.  That  night,  when  it 
was  time  to  return  Dave  stood  perilously  near  the 
edge  of  the  pier,  gazing  with  melancholy  eyes  on 
the  water.  Several  women  hastened  towards  him, 
and  drawing  him  gently  away,  enquired  as  to  his 
trouble.  On  which  Dave  stood  erect,  was  motion- 
less, frowned,  bit  his  lip,  and  stalked  away  into  the 
darkness,  without  uttering  a  word.  He  came  back 
in  time  to  catch  the  boat.  Dave  soon  got  tired  of 
these  doings,  but  the  influence  of  Byron  was  more 
lasting  on  me.  It  was  the  first  time  for  me  to  read 
verse  with  enjoyment.     I   read  Shelley,   Marlowe, 

[15] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

and  Shakespeare,  indifferent  to  Wordsworth,  but 
giving  him  since  the  attention  of  wiser  days. 

My  grandmother  had  only  read  one  novel  in  her 
life,  called  "The  Children  of  the  Abbey,"  and  had 
been  severely  punished  by  her  mother  for  doing  so. 
She  therefore  continually  warned  me  against  read- 
ing such  works,  but  strongly  recommended  Milton's 
"Paradise  Lost"  and  Young's  "Night  Thoughts"; 
her  favourite  quotation  being  from  the  latter — 
"Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time."  It  pleased 
her  to  tears  when  a  friend  saw  a  likeness  between 
John  Bunyan  and  myself,  and  she  regretted  that 
she  saw  no  prospect  of  ever  tracing  a  resemblance 
between  our  hearts. 

I  was  now  bound  apprentice  to  the  picture  frame 
trade,  but  owing  to  my  passion  for  reading,  could 
not  apply  myself  sufficiently  to  that  business  so  as  to 
become  a  good  workman.  The  fact  of  the  matter 
was  that  I  was  reading  deep  into  the  night  and, 
having  to  be  up  early  for  work,  was  encroaching 
on  Nature's  allowance  of  sleep.  Owing  to  being 
young  and  conceited  and  not  being  satisfied  at  hav- 
ing knowledge  concealed,  I  showed  at  this  time  some 
parts  that  made  older  and  wiser  people  of  both 
sexes  prophesy  good  results  in  manhood.  Having 
no  knowledge  of  metre  and  very  little  of  harmony, 
I  composed  and  caused  to  be  printed  a  poem  de- 
scribing a  storm  at  night,  which  a  young  friend  re- 
cited at  a  mutual  improvement  class>  making  after 

[i6] 


Youth 

mention  of  the  author's  name,  when  I  was  pubhcly 
congratulated.  Some  time  after  this  I — having  sur- 
reptitiously visited  the  playhouse  on  more  than  one 
occasion — boldly  read  out  an  article  to  the  same 
class  entitled — "In  defence  of  the  Stage."  This 
daring  performance  caused  some  commotion  among 
the  full  grown  sheep,  who  thought  they  detected  a 
wolf  in  lamb's  clothing;  but  the  young  lamb — my 
companions — bleated  for  pride  and  joy.  My 
grandmother  was  told  of  this,  and  as  she  did  not 
take  the  trouble  to  enquire  the  subject  of  my  ad- 
dress, and  it  was  not  told  unto  her,  she  was  satisfied 
to  know  I  had  surprised  several  members  of  the  con- 
gregation and  in  particular  a  deacon,  for  whom  she 
had  great  respect. 

It  has  always  been  a  wonder  to  me  where  my 
conversational  power  has  gone:  at  the  present  time 
I  cannot  impress  the  most  ordinary  men.  It  must 
be  through  associating  so  many  years  with  compan- 
ions uncongenial  to  my  taste,  a  preference  for  in- 
dulging in  my  own  thoughts,  and  forcing  myself  to 
comment  on  subjects  uninteresting  to  me.  I  remem- 
ber at  one  time  being  in  a  lodging  house  where  one 
man  stood  out  as  an  authority  on  books,  disease, 
politics,  military  tactics,  and  more  especially  the 
meaning  and  right  pronunciation  of  words.  Sev- 
eral times  different  men  have  said  to  me,  "That  man 
is  a  scholar;  he  is  not  an  ignoramus,  as  the  likes  of 
you  and  me."     It  was  a  secret  satisfaction  to  know 

[17] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

that  this  gentleman  to  whom  they  referred,  often 
paid  the  compliment  of  knowing  more  than  himself 
by  asking  information,  which,  on  my  part,  was  im- 
parted with  much  secrecy,  as  I  did  not  wish  to  ap- 
pear in  any  way  superior  to  those  with  whom  I  was 
forced  by  circumstances  to  associate.  Yet,  in  those 
happy  days  of  my  apprenticeship,  I  rarely  visited 
a  house  but  what  a  second  invitation  was  assured, 
although  a  painful  shyness  marred  the  beginning. 
We  enjoyed  ourselves  so  much  one  evening  at  a 
friend's  house,  where  the  lady  had  been  all  day  in- 
disposed, that  her  husband  said,  on  leaving,  "My 
wife  has  been  laughed  out  of  her  sickness,  and  you 
have  certainly  saved  me  an  item  on  the  doctor's 
bill."  Instead  of  this  giving  more  confidence  and 
overcoming  my  shyness,  when  I  received  from  them 
an  invitation  for  a  second  party  I  became  so  over- 
powered at  the  thought  of  what  would  be  expected 
of  me,  that  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  accept 
it,  knowing  I  would  have  made  an  ass  of  myself. 
It  is  not  altogether  shyness  that  now  makes  me  un- 
successful in  company.  Sometimes  it  is  a  state  of 
mind  that  is  three  parts  meditation  that  will  not 
free  the  thoughts  until  their  attendant  trains  are 
prepared  to  follow  them.  Again,  having  heard  so 
much  slang  my  thoughts  often  clothe  themselves  in 
that  stuff  from  their  first  nakedness.  That  being 
the  case,  shame  and  confusion  in  good  company 
make  me  take  so  long  to  undress  and  clothe  them 

[18] 


Youth 

better,  in  more  seemly  garments,  that  other  people 
grow  tired  of  waiting  and  take  upon  themselves  the 
honour  of  entertainers.  It  was  in  the  second  year 
of  my  apprenticeship  that  I  met  a  young  woman 
living  in  a  small  village  adjoining  this  town  of  my 
birth,  who  was  very  clever,  a  great  reader  of  fine 
literature;  and  it  was  to  her  hands,  after  I  had  en- 
joyed her  conversation  on  several  occasions,  that  I 
submitted  a  small  composition  of  my  own.  Her 
encouragement  at  that  early  time  has  been  the  star 
on  which  these  eyes  have  seldom  closed,  by  which 
I  have  successfully  navigated  the  deeps  of  misery, 
pushing  aside  Drink,  my  first  ofBcer,  who  many  a 
day  and  many  a  night  endeavoured  to  founder  me. 
She  was  the  first  to  recognise  in  my  spirit  something 
different  from  mere  cleverness,  something  she  had 
seen  and  recognised  in  her  books,  but  had  never  be- 
fore met  in  a  living  person.  I  had  known  her  only 
six  months  when  she  died,  but  her  words  of  encour- 
agement have  been  ringing  in  my  ears  ever  since  they 
were  uttered. 

My  grandfather  had  also  died;  a  straightforward, 
honest,  simple  man,  with  a  mortal  dread  of  being 
in  debt,  and  always  well  prepared  to  pay  his  rates 
and  taxes.  He  had  a  horror  of  being  a  principal 
in  the  police  courts,  but  appeared  there  three  times 
for  no  offence  of  his  own.  Called  upon  once  to  ex- 
amine a  rope  supposed  to  be  stolen  from  a  ship  he 
proved  the  rope  was  of  the  land,  and  different  from 

[19] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

a  ship's  rope — discharge  of  the  prisoner.  On  an- 
other occasion,  Sunday  morning,  and  grandfather  be- 
ing in  bed,  a  detective,  disguised  as  a  poor  working 
man  that  was  almost  dying  for  a  drink,  wheedled 
the  old  man's  daughter  to  sell  him  some  liquor  over 
the  back  wall — the  result  being  a  summons  for  sup- 
plying drink  during  closed  hours,  followed  by  a 
heavy  fine,  which  was  at  once  paid.  The  third  time 
was  at  my  trial  with  five  other  desperadoes,  as  de- 
scribed in  the  preceding  chapter.  There  was  noth- 
ing false  about  this  man,  and  he  had  the  heart  of 
a  lion.  He  claimed  to  have  beaten  the  champion 
of  Portsmouth,  but  undoubtedly  this  was  some 
drunken  fellow  who  had  taken  on  himself  this  much 
coveted  title.  Grandfather's  pet  yarn,  which  I  have 
heard  him  recount  a  hundred  times,  took  place  in  a 
public  house,  where  a  thin  partition  divided  him 
from  another  person  who  was  loudly  extolling  him- 
self to  the  admiration  of  others.  Grandfather  al- 
lowed this  man  to  continue  for  some  time,  but  at 
last,  losing  patience,  he  looked  around  the  partition 
and  cried  in  a  stern  voice,  "Avast  there.  Captain 
Jones:  I  knew  thee  when  thou  wert  glad  to  eat 
barley  bread  without  butter."  Captain  Jones  looked 
disconcerted  at  this  remark  and  then,  quickly  putting 
his  own  head  around  the  partition,  whispered: 
"Hush,  hush,  Captain  Davies;  there's  nothing  like 
making  one's  self  look  big  in  a  strange  place." 

I  was  now  in  the  last  year  of  my  apprenticeship, 
[20] 


Youth 

and  was  running  a  bit  wild,  taking  no  interest  in 
my  trade,  and  determined  in  a  few  months  to  throw 
off  all  restraint.  When  my  time  had  expired,  my 
master  wanted  me  to  continue  working  for  him, 
which  I  did  for  a  short  time;  and,  for  one  who  had 
not  yet  reached  his  twenty-first  year,  received  a  very 
fair  wage.  In  three  or  four  months  I  found  some 
excuse  for  leaving.  I  was  eager  to  start  for  the 
new  world;  but  my  grandmother  would  not,  on  any 
account,  supply  money  for  that  purpose;  so  I  ap- 
plied for  work  at  Bristol,  was  accepted,  and  worked 
there  six  months,  being  then  called  home  through  the 
death  of  the  good  old  lady.  The  licence  indulged 
in  during  these  six  months,  being  in  a  strange  town 
and  unknown,  was  sufficient  to  wreck  the  brains  and 
he'alth  of  any  man  beyond  recovery,  and  for  the 
time  being  deadened  all  literary  ambition.  It  could 
not  have  continued  this  way  much  longer,  and  no 
doubt,  it  was  her  death  that  prevented  the  collapse 
of  my  life,  by  a  change  of  circumstances.  Her  es- 
tate was  in  the  hands  of  a  trustee,  and  its  profits 
were  to  be  divided  weekly  among  her  three  grand- 
children. She  was  a  good  old  soul,  and  I  have  lived 
long  enough  to  cherish  every  hair  of  her  head.  She 
was  a  Baptist,  stoutly  opposed  to  other  creeds — 
called  the  stage  the  Devil's  Playground — abhorred 
second  marriages — and  thought  as  much  of  me  in 
life  as  I  think  of  her  in  death.  Many  of  the  little 
kindnesses  that  were  given  to  her  in  life  were  done 

[21] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

more  out  of  a  sense  of  duty  than  from  the  gratitude 
of  which  she  was  so  worthy.  But  the  good  old  soul 
died  without  suspecting  any  other  than  gratitude. 
Mine  is  the  shame  and  sorrow  that  she  did  not  re- 
ceive it,  as  I  am  even  now,  thirteen  years  after  her 
death,  living  on  her  bounty.  When  my  grandmother 
died,  I  joined  home  with  mother  and  her  second 
family,  but  after  a  month  or  two  of  restlessness,  I 
sought  the  trustee,  got  an  advance  from  him  of  some 
fifteen  pounds,  and  full  of  hope  and  expectation  em- 
barked for  America. 


[22] 


CHAPTER  III 

MANHOOD 

ON  arriving  at  Liverpool,  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  man  who  had  been  in 
America  some  years  previously,  and  not 
having  his  hopes  realised  at  that  time,  had  returned 
desperate  to  England,  taken  in  a  fresh  cargo  of 
hopes,  and  was  now  making  a  second  attempt  with 
as  much  enthusiasm,  if  not  more,  than  others  in  mak- 
ing their  first.  In  him  I  placed  implicit  confidence, 
and  received  such  an  extraordinary  description  of 
that  country,  the  number  of  stories  of  some  of  its 
highest  buildings  which  were  called  skyscrapers;  the 
houses  of  wood  which  could  be  moved  from  one 
street  to  another  without  in  any  way  interfering 
with  the  comfort  of  the  people  within,  cooking, 
sweeping  and  washing  going  on  without  hindrance; 
the  loneliness  of  its  prairies  and  deserts;  engineer- 
ing triumphs  over  high  mountains;  and  how  the 
glorious  South  was  flushed  with  roses  what  time 
the  North  could  not  save  a  blade  of  green  from  the 
snow;  all  this  happening  under  the  one  wide  spread- 
ing flag:  this  made  such  an  impression  on  me  that 
I  at  once  went  to  the  steerage  cabin  and  wrote  a 

[23] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

full  description  of  the  country,  that  very  first  eve- 
ning aboard;  telling  of  my  arrival  in  America,  and 
the  difference  between  the  old  and  the  new  world. 
This  letter  was  given  to  the  steward  at  Queenstown, 
and  was  written  to  save  me  the  trouble  of  writing 
on  my  arrival,  so  that  I  might  have  more  time  to 
enjoy  myself.  Several  years  elapsed  before  it  oc- 
curred to  me  how  foolish  and  thoughtless  I  had  been. 
The  postmark  itself  would  prove  that  I  had  not 
landed  in  America,  and  they  would  also  receive  the 
letter  several  days  before  it  would  be  due  from  those 
distant  shores.  I  can  certainly  not  boast  a  large 
amount  of  common  sense. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June,  when  we  made  this 
voyage,  and  the  great  Atlantic  was  as  smooth  as  an 
inland  river.  Every  one  sought  to  escape  the 
thoughts  of  home,  and  to  do  so,  we  often  worked 
ourselves  into  a  frenzy  of  singing  and  dancing. 
Sometimes  our  attention  would  be  drawn  to  an  ice- 
berg on  the  port  side,  very  innocent  and  beautiful 
to  the  eyes  of  passengers,  but  feared  by  mariners, 
who  saw  into  its  depths.  And  then  a  ship  full  sail ; 
or  another  great  Atlantic  liner  on  the  starboard  bow. 
There  was  a  total  lack  of  ceremony  aboard,  stran- 
gers familiar  with  strangers,  and  the  sexes  doing 
each  other  little  kindnesses,  who  had  never  met  be- 
fore and  probably  would  never  meet  again,  parting 
without  even  enquiring  or  giving  each  other  a  name. 
As  we  neared  the  coast  we  had  a  thunderstorm,  and 

[24] 


Manhood 

I  was  surprised  and  somewhat  awed  at  the  sound 
of  its  peals,  and  at  the  slower  and  larger  flashes  of 
lightning.  Nature,  it  seemed,  used  a  freer  and  more 
powerful  hand  in  this  country  of  great  things  than 
is  her  wont  among  our  pretty  little  dales,  and  our 
small  green  hills.  I  thought  the  world  was  coming 
to  an  end,  and  in  no  way  felt  reassured  when  an 
American,  noting  my  expression,  said  that  it  was 
nothing  to  what  I  would  see  and  hear  if  I  remained 
long  in  God's  own  country  of  free  and  law  abiding 
citizens. 

My  impression  of  Americans  from  the  beginning 
is  of  the  best,  and  I  have  never  since  had  cause  to 
alter  my  mind.  They  are  a  kind,  sympathetic  race 
of  people  and  naturally  proud  of  their  country. 
The  Irish-American  is  inclined  to  be  the  most  bitter, 
remembering  from  his  youth  the  complaints  of  his 
parents,  who  were  driven  through  unjust  laws  from 
their  own  beloved  land;  and  such  a  man  is  not  to 
be  idly  aggravated,  for  life  is  a  serious  subject  to 
him.  This  man  is  not  to  be  aggravated,  especially 
under  the  consideration  that  our  conscience  is  not 
too  clean  in  this  respect,  and  that  we  are  apt  to  be 
very  slow  in  making  that  open  confession  which  is 
good  for  the  soul.  The  most  pleasing  trait  in 
Americans,  which  cannot  for  long  escape  us,  is  their 
respect  for  women  and  the  way  in  which  the  latter 
do  their  utmost  to  deserve  it.  No  sight  of  a  woman 
behind  the  saloon  bar  listening  to  the  ribald  jests 

[25] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

of  drunken  men,  and  no  woman  at  the  bar's  front 
drinking  glass  for  glass  with  her  associates.  How- 
ever weak  in  this  respect  a  woman  may  be  in  private, 
she  is  certainly  too  strong  to  make  a  public  exhibi- 
tion of  her  weakness.  Husband  and  wife  may  be 
unhappy,  but  you  seldom  hear  of  a  woman  carry- 
ing the  marks  of  a  man's  brutality  as  witnesses 
against  him  which  is  so  common  in  the  police  courts 
of  old  England.  A  man  in  a  fit  of  ungovernable 
passion  may  kill  his  wife;  and  better  so,  I  should 
say,  than  to  leave  her  half  killed  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  every  Saturday  night  and  holidays  for  twenty 
or  thirty  years,  and  blacken  her  eyes  before  they  can 
recover  their  natural  colour,  the  brutality  that 
shamed  me  so  much  in  after  years  in  the  slums  of 
London,  hearing  it  so  often  recorded  as  a  jest. 

I  was  so  anxious  to  see  the  different  states  of 
America  that  I  did  not  stay  long  in  New  York  be- 
fore I  succumbed  to  the  persuasion  of  my  Liverpool 
acquaintance  to  visit  with  him  some  friends  in  a 
small  town  in  the  state  of  Connecticut,  at  which 
place  we  soon  arrived,  with  something  like  ten  dol- 
lars between  us.  America,  at  this  time,  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  depression  in  trade,  and  people  were 
daily  returning  to  the  old  country,  most  of  them 
with  the  intention  of  returning  again  to  America  at 
a  more  favourable  time.  Not  being  able  to  get  em- 
ployment at  once,  and  resolved  to  be  independent 
of  the  bounty  of  strangers,  I  walked  out  alone,  and 

[26] 


Manhood 

sat  on  a  seat  in  the  park,  trying  to  conceive  some 
plans  for  the  future.  My  box,  full  of  clothes,  books, 
brushes,  etc.,  would  amply  compensate,  I  thought, 
for  the  week's  lodging  which  I  had  had.  Yes,  I 
would  see  Chicago:  and,  suddenly  becoming  aware 
of  a  man  occupying  the  other  end  of  the  seat,  I 
enquired  of  him  the  way  to  Chicago,  as  though  the 
distance  was  a  paltry  ten  miles,  instead  of  a  hundred 
times  greater.  This  man  looked  at  me  in  astonish- 
ment, and  at  last  asked  me  if  I  intended  to  beat  my 
way.  Seeing  my  lack  of  understanding,  he  enquired 
as  to  my  financial  resources.  On  shaking  my  head 
in  the  negative,  implying  that  I  had  no  money,  he 
said.  "No  more  have  I:  and  if  you  are  agreeable, 
we  will  both  beat  our  way  to  Chicago." 

This  was  Brum,  a  notorious  beggar,  who  made 
himself  at  home  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  coast,  and  from  the  north- 
ern provinces  of  Canada  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
The  easy  and  sumptuous  way  of  his  catering  made 
me  indifferent  to  all  manual  labour.  In  that  coun- 
try, where  food  was  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  where 
it  often  went  begging  to  be  received,  and  people 
were  not  likely  to  suffer  for  their  generosity,  I  be- 
came, under  Brum's  tutorage,  a  lazy  wretch  with 
but  little  inclination  for  work.  Cockneys  make 
good  beggars.  They  are  held  in  high  esteem  by  the 
fraternity  in  America.  Their  resources,  originality 
and  invention,  and  a  never  faltering  tongue,  enable 

[27] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

them  to  often  attain  their  ends  where  others  fail, 
and  they  succeed  where  the  natives  starve.  But 
my  friend  Brum  held  them  in  great  scorn,  for  their 
methods  were  not  his  methods.  Brum  was  a  genu- 
ine beggar,  who  did  not  make  flashes  in  the  dark, 
having  one  day  plenty  and  nothing  on  the  next  day. 
What  he  required  he  proceeded  to  beg,  every  morn- 
ing making  an  inventory  of  his  wants.  Rather  than 
wash  a  good  handkerchief  he  would  beg  an  old  one 
that  was  clean,  and  he  would  without  compunction 
discard  a  good  shirt  altogether  rather  than  sew  a 
button  on — thus  keeping  up  the  dignity  of  his  pro- 
fession to  the  extreme.  He  scorned  to  carry  soap, 
but  went  to  a  house  like  a  Christian,  and  asked  to 
be  allowed  to  wash,  with  a  request  for  warm  water 
if  the  morning  was  cold.  Begging  was  to  him  a 
fine  art,  indeed,  and  a  delight  of  which  he  never 
seemed  to  tire.  I  have  known  him,  when  surfeited 
with  an  abundance  of  common  food,  such  as  steak, 
chops,  etc. — ^to  beg  lozenges  and  sweets,  complain- 
ing I  suppose,  of  throat  troubles.  Even  in  a  new 
country  like  America,  there  are  quite  a  number  of 
hostile  towns,  owing  to  their  lying  on  the  main 
roads  between  large  cities  that  are  not  far  apart; 
but  Brum  never  seemed  to  fail,  and  would  certainly 
never  lower  his  dignity  by  complaining  of  difficulty. 
In  every  street,  he  said,  there  lived  a  good  Samari- 
tan, and  seeing  that  a  good  beggar  knocks  at  every 
door,  he  must  ultimately  succeed.     She  may  live  in 

[28] 


Manhood 

the  last  house,  and  therefore  the  unsuccessful  beggar, 
having  no  patience  and  perseverance,  fails  in  his 
calling.  Brum  was  a  slow  man  in  action  and  went 
about  his  business  in  a  dogged  way.  And  that  re- 
minds me  of  how  this  slowness  of  action  once  saved 
his  life.  We  had  built  a  camp  fire  in  the  woods, 
within  a  mile  or  more  of  a  small  town.  Now,  it 
was  Brum's  habit,  before  lying  down  for  the  night, 
to  wind  his  handkerchief  around  his  neck,  and  this 
he  had  done.  Next  morning  I  was  the  first  to  rise, 
and  Brum,  deliberately  following  my  example,  began 
in  his  own  easy  way  to  slowly  unwind  this  handker- 
chief, when  to  my  horror  a  large  tarantula  fell  from 
its  folds.  Now,  had  Brum  been  an  impulsive  man, 
no  doubt  the  spider  would  have  been  squeezed,  and 
would  have  then  fastened  on  his  neck  and  poisoned 
his  blood  mortally. 

I  was  soon  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  beating 
my  way  by  train,  which  is  so  necessary  in  parts  of 
that  country,  seeing  the  great  distances  between 
towns.  Somethimes  we  were  fortunate  enough  to 
get  an  empty  car;  sometimes  we  had  to  ride  the 
bumpers;  and  often,  when  travelling  through  a  hos- 
tile country,  we  rode  on  the  roof  of  a  car,  so  as 
not  to  give  the  brakesman  an  opportunity  of  striking 
us  off  the  bumpers  unawares.  It  is  nothing  unusual 
in  some  parts  to  find  a  man,  always  a  stranger,  lying 
dead  on  the  track,  often  cut  in  many  pieces.  At 
the  inquest  they  invariably  bring  in  a  verdict  of  ac- 

[29] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

cidental  death,  but  we  know  different.  Therefore 
we  rode  the  car's  top,  so  as  to  be  at  no  disadvan- 
tage in  a  struggle.  The  brakesman,  knowing  well 
that  our  fall  would  be  his  own,  would  not  be  too 
eager  to  commence  hostilities.  Sometimes  we  were 
desperate  enough  to  ride  the  narrow  iron  rods,  which 
were  under  the  car,  and  only  a  few  feet  from  the 
track.  This  required  some  nerve,  for  it  was  not 
only  uncomfortable,  but  the  train,  being  so  near  the 
line,  seemed  to  be  running  at  a  reckless  and  uncon- 
trollable speed,  whereas,  when  riding  on  the  car's 
top,  a  much  faster  train  seems  to  be  running  much 
slower  and  far  more  smooth  and  safe.  Sometimes 
we  were  forced  to  jump  off  a  moving  train  at  the 
point  of  a  revolver.  At  other  times  the  brakesmen 
were  friendly,  and  even  offered  assistance  in  the  way 
of  food,  drink  or  tobacco.  Again,  when  no  firearm 
was  in  evidence,  we  had  to  threaten  the  brakesman 
with  death  if  he  interfered  with  us.  In  this  way 
Brum  and  myself  travelled  the  States  of  America, 
sleeping  at  night  by  camp  fires,  and  taking  temporary 
possession  of  empty  houses. 

One  night,  when  darkness  had  overtaken  us,  be- 
fore we  could  find  a  fit  and  comfortable  place  for 
camping,  we  spied  a  house,  and  seeing  no  light  in 
the  window,  presumed  it  to  be  unoccupied.  We 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  the  hollow  sound  which 
followed  convinced  us  that  no  living  person  was 
then  on  the  premises.     When  we  lifted  the  latch 

[30] 


Manhood 

and  entered  we  were  surprised  to  see  chairs,  a  table 
and  various  articles  of  domestic  utility  scattered  in 
confusion  on  the  floor.  In  spite  of  this  we  pro- 
ceeded to  make  ourselves  easy  for  the  night,  and 
coming  out  again  began  to  feel  in  the  darkness  for 
wood.  Being  successful  in  our  search  we  returned 
and  made  a  iire,  and  there  we  slept  until  morning. 
As  usual,  I  was  the  first  to  rise  on  the  following  day, 
and  went  forth  in  quest  of  water  to  make  our  break- 
fast coffee.  This  I  soon  found,  and  was  bearing  it 
along,  when  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a  board 
nailed  to  the  front  of  the  house.  There  I  saw  the 
letters  "Haunted,"  painted  large,  and  ragged,  as 
though  by  a  hand  that  had  shaken  with  fear.  If 
we  had  seen  this  board  on  the  night  previous,  no 
doubt  we  would  have  hurried  on  in  dread  of  our 
lives,  but  as  it  was,  we  made  our  coffee  and  laughed 
heartily  in  the  daylight.  At  this  time  I  took  a 
notion  to  work  for  a  few  days,  but  Brum  showed 
his  grinning  face  so  often  that  I  grew  ashamed  of 
him,  and  discharged  myself.  He  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  strange  liking  to  me,  and  would  not  leave 
me,  but  swore  that  not  even  for  my  sake  would  he 
become  a  working  man. 


[31] 


CHAPTER  IV 

BRUM 

BRUM  was  a  man  of  an  original  turn  of  mind 
and  his  ideas  were  often  at  variance  with 
others.  For  instance,  all  tramps  in  America 
travel  on  the  railroad,  whether  they  walk  or  take  free 
rides.  Therefore  it  seems  reasonable  to  infer  that 
the  people  who  live  on  the  outskirts  of  a  town,  being 
farthest  from  the  track,  would  be  more  in  sympathy 
with  tramps,  for  they  would  see  and  hear  less  of 
them.  But  Brum  laughed  at  this  idea,  and  claimed 
that  his  own  success  was  through  being  of  a  different 
mind.  "For,"  said  he,  "as  all  tramps  are  of  that 
opinion,  therefore  the  outskirts  are  begged  too  much 
and  the  centre  of  the  town  too  little.  For  in- 
stance," he  continued,  "here  is  the  railroad  depot, 
with  its  restaurant;  now,  not  one  tramp  in  a  hun- 
dred would  visit  such  a  place,  for  it  is  on  their 
direct  road,  and  they  believe  that  it  receives  far 
too  many  appeals.  This  opinion,  being  so  common, 
must  prove  it  to  be  false.  However,  we  will  test 
it  and  see."  Saying  which  Brum  boldly  entered 
the  restaurant,  leaving  me  to  wait  outside.  It  was 
a  considerable  time  before  he   reappeared,   and  I 

[32] 


Brum 

began  to  think  that  he  was  being  supplied  with  a 
meal  on  the  premises,  but  at  last  he  came,  carrying 
in  his  hand  a  large  paper  parcel.  "The  place  is  as 
good  as  gold,"  said  he,  "for  here  we  have  a  day's 
provisions  for  two.  Take  it  down  the  track  to  that 
clump  of  woods,"  said  he,  "for  the  waiter  promised 
that  did  I  bring  a  jug  or  can  he  would  supply  me 
with  hot  coffee."  I  started  at  once  towards  the 
woods  with  this  bag,  the  weight  of  which  proved 
the  presence  of  either  much  meat  or  pudding;  while 
Brum  made  his  way  to  a  small  house  near  the  rail- 
road to  see  if  he  could  borrow  a  can.  It  was  not 
long  after  this  when  we  were  seated  in  the  shady 
green  wood  with  the  contents  of  this  parcel  before 
us,  which  were  found  to  consist  of  a  number  of  chops, 
bread  and  butter,  some  potatoes  and  cake.  These, 
with  a  quart  or  more  of  good  hot  coffee,  made  such 
a  meal  as  a  working  man  could  only  reasonably 
expect  once  a  week — the  day  being  Sunday. 

One  of  Brum's  peculiarities  was,  on  approaching 
a  town,  to  look  out  for  a  church  steeple  with  a  cross, 
which  denoted  a  Catholic  church,  and  therefore  a 
Catholic  community.  Making  his  way  in  the  direc- 
tion of  that  cross  he  would  begin  operations  in  its 
surrounding  streets,  "and,"  said  he,  "if  I  fail  in  that 
portion  of  the  town,  I  shall  certainly  not  succeed 
elsewhere." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  happy  summer  months 
I  spent  with  Brum  at  the  seaside.     Some  of  the 

[33] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

rich  merchants  there  could  not  spare  more  than  a 
month  or  six  weeks  from  business,  but,  thanks  be 
to  Providence,  the  whole  summer  was  at  our  dis- 
posal. If  we  grew  tired  of  one  town  or,  as  more 
often  the  case,  the  town  grew  tired  of  us,  we  would 
saunter  leisurely  to  the  next  one  and  again  pitch 
our  camp;  so  on,  from  place  to  place,  during  the 
summer  months.  We  moved  freely  among  the  visi- 
tors, who  apparently  held  us  in  great  respect,  for 
they  did  not  address  us  familiarly,  but  contented 
themselves  with  staring  at  a  distance.  We  lay  across 
their  runs  on  the  sands  and  their  paths  in  the  woods; 
we  monopolised  their  nooks  in  the  rocks  and  took 
possession  of  caves,  and  not  a  murmur  heard,  except 
from  the  sea,  which  of  a  certainty  could  not  be 
laid  to  our  account.  No  doubt  detectives  were  in 
these  places,  but  they  were  on  the  look  out  for  pick- 
pockets, burglars  and  swindlers;  and,  seeing  that 
neither  the  visitors  nor  the  boarding  house  keepers 
made  any  complaint,  these  detectives  did  not  think 
it  worth  while  to  arrest  tramps;  for  there  was  no 
promotion  to  be  had  by  doing  so.  "Ah,"  I  said  to 
Brum,  as  we  sat  in  a  shady  place,  eating  a  large 
custard  pudding  from  a  boarding  house,  using  for 
the  purpose  two  self-made  spoons  of  wood — "Ah, 
we  would  not  be  so  pleasantly  occupied  as  tramps 
in  England.  We  would  there  receive  tickets  for 
soup;  soup  that  could  be  taken  without  spoons;  no 
pleasant  picking  of  the  teeth  after  eating;  no  sign 

[34] 


Brum 

of  a  pea,  onion  or  carrot;  no  sign  of  anything, 
except  flies."  Two-thirds  of  a  large  custard  pudding 
between  two  of  us,  and  if  there  was  one  fault  to 
be  found  with  it,  it  was  its  being  made  with  too 
many  eggs.  Even  Brum  was  surprised  at  his  suc- 
cess on  this  occasion.  "Although,"  as  he  said,  "she 
being  a  fat  lady,  I  expected  something  unusual." 
Brum  had  a  great  admiration  for  a  fat  woman;  not 
so  much,  I  believe,  as  his  particular  type  of  beauty, 
but  for  the  good  natured  qualities  he  claimed  cor- 
pulence denoted.  "How  can  you  expect  those 
skinny  creatures  to  sympathise  with  another  when 
they  half  starve  their  own  bodies'?"  he  asked.  He 
often  descanted  on  the  excellencies  of  the  fat,  to  the 
detriment  of  the  thin,  and  I  never  yet  heard  another 
beggar  disagree  with  him. 

After  seeing  Brum  wash  the  dish,  and  wipe  it 
with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  with  a  care  that  almost 
amounted  to  reverence,  and  trusting  in  my  own  mind 
that  the  good  lady  would  have  the  thought  and  pre- 
caution to  wash  it  again — I  settled  to  a  short  nap, 
till  Brum's  return.  For  there  was  no  knowing  how 
long  he  might  be  away;  he  might  take  a  notion  to 
beg  a  shirt,  a  pair  of  trousers  or  shoes,  or  anything 
else  that  came  to  his  mind. 

Now,  when  Brum  left,  he  had  on  a  dark  shirt, 
but  I  was  so  accustomed  to  seeing  him  change  his  ap- 
pearance with  a  fresh  coat,  or  a  different  shaped  hat, 
that  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  on  waking  to  see 

[35] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

him  sitting  before  me  in  a  clean  white  shirt  with 
a  starched  front.  I  said  nothing  about  this  change, 
and  he  was  too  good  a  beggar  to  give  unsolicited 
infomiation,  which  would  look  too  much  like  boast- 
ing of  his  own  exploits.  That  he  had  met  another 
of  his  favourite  fat  ladies,  or  perhaps  the  same  one 
had  added  to  her  kindness — there  was  not  the  least 
doubt. 

Brum's  first  words  rather  startled  me,  for  he  con- 
tinued the  conversation  from  the  place  I  left  off 
previous  to  my  sleep.  "When  I  was  in  England," 
he  began,  "I  did  not  experience  such  hardship  as  is 
commonly  supposed  to  exist.  Beggars  there,  as  here, 
choose  the  wrong  places,  and  not  one  in  three  knows 
which  are  the  best."  "Surely,"  I  said,  "a  good  clean 
street  of  houses  with  respectable  fronts,  of  moderate 
size,  and  kept  by  the  better  class  mechanics,  are  the 
best^"  "And  so  they  would  be,"  he  answered,  "if 
every  beggar  did  not  think  so.  But  let  me  tell  you, 
for  your  benefit  if  ever  stranded  in  England, 
the  best  places  for  beggars  to  operate."  How  I 
learned  the  truth  of  his  wise  teaching,  in  after  days  I 
Every  fine  looking  street  you  chance  upon,  pass  it; 
but  every  little  court  or  blind  alley  you  come  across, 
take  possession  without  delay,  especially  if  its  en- 
trance is  under  an  arch,  which  hides  the  approach 
to  the  houses,  making  them  invisible  from  the  street. 
Such  little  out  of  the  way  places  are  not  only  more 
profitable  than  good  streets,  but  are  comparatively 

[36] 


Brum 

safe  where  the  police  are  unusually  severe.  Then 
again  you  should  avoid  every  town  that  has  not 
either  a  mill,  a  factory,  or  a  brewery;  old  fashioned 
towns,  quiet  and  without  working  people — except 
a  few  gardeners,  coachmen,  domestic  servants,  etc: 
such  places  where  you  see  a  sign  at  the  free  libraries 
warning  tramps  not  to  enter,  and  every  plot  of  land 
has  its  sign — "Beware  of  the  Dog."  In  towns  where 
working  men  are  numerous,  and  the  idle  rich  are 
few,  such  signs  are  not  to  be  seen.  "Of  course," 
he  continued,  "your  object  in  England  must  be 
money,  for  you  cannot  expect  to  get  meat,  cake  and 
custard  pudding  in  a  land  where  even  the  rich  live 
poorer,  with  regards  to  diet,  than  the  labouring  classes 
of  this  country."  I  remembered  these  wise  thoughts 
of  Brum,  uttered  on  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
if  I  did  not  profit  much  by  them  in  my  own  experi- 
ence in  England,  I  certainly  made  enough  attempts 
to  test  their  truth.  I  always  kept  a  keen  eye  for 
blind  alleys,  and  quiet  courts  under  arches,  and  I 
invariably  came  out  of  one  richer  than  I  went  in. 
And  what  nice  quiet  places  they  are  for  drinking  cups 
of  tea  on  a  doorstep,  with  only  a  neighbour  or  two 
to  see  you,  and  perhaps  thousands  of  people  pass- 
ing to  and  fro  in  the  street  at  the  other  side  of  the 
arch.  There  is  no  thoroughfare  for  horses  and  carts ; 
no  short  cut  for  business  men,  and  the  truth  of  the 
matter  is  that  a  number  of  the  inhabitants  them- 
selves, born  and  bred  in  the  town,  know  not  of  the 

[37] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

existence  of  such  places;  and  others,  knowing  them, 
would  be  ashamed  to  confess  their  acquaintance  with 
them.  But  Brum  knew  where  to  find  the  kindest 
hearts  in  England,  not  in  the  fine  streets  and  new 
villas,  but  in  the  poor  little  white-washed  houses 
in  courts  and  alleys. 


[38] 


CHAPTER  V 

A  tramp's  summer  vacation 

WE  were  determined  to  be  in  the  fashion, 
and  to  visit  the  various  delightful  water- 
ing places  on  Long  Island  Sound.  Of 
course  it  would  be  necessary  to  combine  business  with 
pleasure,  and  pursue  our  calling  as  beggars.  With 
the  exception  of  begging  our  food,  which  would  not 
be  difficult,  seeing  that  the  boarding  houses  were 
full,  and  that  large  quantities  of  good  stuff  were 
being  made,  there  was  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
get  as  much  enjoyment  out  of  life  as  the  summer 
visitors.  We  would  share  with  them  the  same  sun 
and  breeze;  we  could  dip  in  the  surf  at  our  own 
pleasure,  and  during  the  heat  of  the  day  we  could 
stretch  our  limbs  in  the  green  shade,  or  in  the 
shadow  of  some  large  rock  that  overlooked  the  Sound. 
However  we  could  no  longer  stand  the  sultry  heat 
of  New  York,  where  we  had  been  for  several  days, 
during  which  time  we  had  been  groaning  and  gasp- 
ing for  air.  So  I  and  Brum  started  out  of  the  City, 
on  the  way  towards  Hartford,  Connecticut,  with  the 
intention  of  walking  no  more  than  six  miles  a  day 
along  the  sea  coast.  What  a  glorious  time  we  had ; 
the  people  catered  for  us  as  though  we  were  the 

[39] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

only  tramps  in  the  whole  world,  and  as  if  they  consid- 
ered it  providential  that  we  should  call  at  their  houses 
for  assistance.  The  usual  order  of  things  changed 
considerably.  Cake — which  we  had  hitherto  con- 
sidered as  a  luxury — became  at  this  time  our  common 
food,  and  we  were  at  last  compelled  to  install  plain 
bread  and  butter  as  the  luxury,  preferring  it  before 
the  finest  sponge-cake  flavoured  with  spices  and  eggs. 
Fresh  water  springs  were  numerous,  gushing  joyously 
out  of  the  rocks,  or  lying  quiet  in  shady  nooks;  and 
there  was  many  a  tramps'  camp,  with  tin  cans  ready 
to  hand,  where  we  could  make  our  coffee  and  con- 
sume the  contents  of  paper  bags.  This  part  of  the 
country  was  also  exceptionally  good  for  clothes. 
Summer  boarders  often  left  clothes  behind,  and  of 
what  use  were  they  to  the  landladies,  for  no  rag- 
and-bone  man  ever  called  at  their  houses.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  was  that  in  less  than  a  week  I  was 
well  dressed  from  head  to  foot,  all  of  these  things 
being  voluntary  offerings,  when  in  quest  of  eatables. 
Brum,  of  course,  had  fared  likewise,  but  still  re- 
tained the  same  pair  of  dungarees,  which  he  swore 
he  would  not  discard  except  at  the  instance  of  a 
brand  new  pair  of  tweeds.  It  was  this  pair  of  work- 
ing man's  trousers  which  had  caused  a  most  regret- 
table mistake.  We  had  just  finished  begging  at  one 
of  these  small  watering-places  and,  loaded  with 
booty,  were  on  our  way  in  the  direction  of  the  camp 
which,  Brum  informed  me,  was  half  a  mile  north  of 

[40] 


A  Tramp's  Summer  Vacation 

the  town.  When  we  reached  this  camp  we  found  it 
occupied  by  one  man,  who  had  just  then  made  his 
coffee  and  was  about  to  eat.  On  which  Brum  asked 
this  man's  permission  to  use  his  fire,  which  would 
save  us  the  trouble  of  making  one  of  our  own.  The 
stranger  gave  a  reluctant  consent,  and  at  the  same 
time  moved  some  distance  away,  as  though  he  did  not 
wish  further  intimacy.  While  we  were  gathering 
wood  and  filling  our  cans  at  the  spring,  I  could  not 
help  but  see  this  stranger  glaring  hatefully  at  my 
companion's  trousers,  and  expected  every  moment  to 
hear  some  insulting  remark.  At  last  we  were  ready 
and  Brum  proceeded  to  unload  himself.  He  had 
eight  or  nine  parcels  of  food  distributed  about  his 
clothes,  but  in  such  a  way  that  no  one  could  be  the 
wiser.  It  was  then  that  I  noted  a  change  come  over 
the  stranger's  face,  who  seeing  the  parcels,  seemed 
to  be  smitten  with  remorse.  In  another  moment 
he  was  on  his  feet  and  coming  towards  us,  said  im- 
pulsively— "Excuse  me,  boys,  for  not  giving  you  a 
more  hearty  welcome,  but  really — "  glancing  again 
at  my  companion's  trousers — "I  thought  you  were 
working  men,  but  I  now  see  that  you  are  true  beg- 
gars." Brum  laughed  at  this,  and  mentioned  that 
others  had  also  been  deceived.  He  explained  that 
the  said  trousers  had  been  given  him  against  his 
wish,  but  on  seeing  that  they  were  good,  and  were 
likely  to  outlast  several  pairs  of  cloth,  he  had  re- 
solved to  stick  to  them  for  another  month  or  two. 

[41] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

"I  regret  having  had  such  an  opinion  of  you,"  said 
the  stranger,  in  a  choking  voice,  "and  trust,  boys, 
that  you  will  forgive  me."  Thus  ended  in  a  friendly 
spirit  what  promised  at  first  to  become  very  un- 
pleasant. 

This  stranger  turned  out  to  be  New  Haven  Baldy. 
We  had  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  be- 
fore, but  had  often  heard  of  him.  He  had  a  great 
reputation  in  the  State  of  Connecticut,  which  he 
never  left — except  for  an  annual  trip  through 
Massachusetts  to  the  city  of  Boston.  There  was  not 
one  good  house  in  the  former  State  that  was  not 
known  to  Baldy.  This  was  put  to  the  test  in  our 
presence,  that  very  day.  A  man  came  to  the  camp 
who,  poor  fellow,  claimed  to  be  a  hard-working  man. 
He  had  lost  his  job  and  had  been  robbed  of  his 
savings,  now  being  forced  to  walk  home  to  Meriden. 
He  had  never  begged  in  his  life,  and  had  now  been 
without  food  for  two  days,  and  was  almost  too 
weak  to  continue  his  journey.  "Yes,"  said  Baldy, 
"and  when  you  are  settled  at  home,  and  the  wrinkles 
are  taken  out  of  you,  what  sympathy  will  you  have 
with  us?  You  will  tell  us  to  go  and  work  for  our 
living,  the  same  as  yourself."  The  poor  fellow  pro- 
tested, saying  that  he  had  never  known  his  mother 
to  refuse  any  man  food.  At  this  Baldy  pricked  up 
his  ears  and  enquired  of  the  stranger  his  mother's 
address.  On  hearing  the  name  of  the  street  Baldy 
at  once  proceeded  to  describe  the  one  — and  only  one 

[42] 


A  Tramp's  Summer  Vacation 

— good  house  to  be  found  there :  "That  is  our  house," 
said  the  stranger.  Baldy,  not  yet  convinced,  asked 
for  a  description  of  the  old  lady  and  her  husband. 
This  was  given,  to  Baldy's  satisfaction.  "Well," 
said  he,  "I  have  had  many  a  meal  at  your  house,  and 
you  shall  now  have  one  with  me."  Saying  which 
he  gave  the  stranger  a  parcel  which,  being  spread  on 
the  grass,  was  seen  to  contain  several  meat  sand- 
wiches and  a  number  of  small  cakes.  After  eating 
these,  and  others  from  Brum,  the  stranger  left,  say- 
ing that  he  would  not  again  feel  hungry  until  he 
reached  home. 

After  the  stranger  had  gone  Baldy  laughed  im- 
moderately. "That  man's  father,"  said  he,  "was 
a  railroad  man,  who  became  boss,  and  at  last  re- 
tired on  a  comfortable  little  sum.  In  the  kitchen, 
where  the  old  people  have  often  fed  me,  the  old 
man  has  hung  on  the  wall  the  shovel  which  he  had 
used  in  his  early  days.  There  it  is  to  be  seen  tas- 
selled  and  kept  shining  bright,  and  treated  reverently 
as  a  family  heirloom.  How  I  have  laughed,"  con- 
tinued Baldy,  "to  see  that  shovel,  to  think  what  a 
simple  old  fellow  he  must  be  to  take  a  pride  in 
showing  how  he  toiled  in  his  early  life.  Every 
time  I  go  there  the  old  man  points  at  the  shovel  with 
pride,  and  I  have  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  keep  a 
calm  face  in  listening  to  its  history.  But  in  spite  of 
all  that  the  old  man  is  a  good  sort,  and  I  am  glad 
to  have  been  able  to  assist  his  son." 

(43] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Alas,  what  a  disastrous  end  was  ours  I  When  we 
reached  the  town  of  New  Haven,  we  began  to  beg 
from  passersby  in  the  open  streets  and  in  less  than 
an  hour  were  in  jail.  On  being  brought  up  next 
morning  before  the  judge,  we  were  each  sentenced 
to  thirty  days.  But  what  hurt  our  feelings  most  was 
the  personal  comment  of  the  judge — that  we  were 
two  brawny  scoundrels  who  would  not  work  if  we 
had  the  chance.  However  true  this  might  be  as 
applied  to  us  in  a  moral  sense,  it  certainly  was  not 
a  literal  fact,  for  we  were  both  small  men.  People 
who,  not  seeing  us,  would  read  this  remark  in  the 
local  paper,  would  be  misled  as  to  our  personal  ap- 
pearance. I  am  doubtful  whether  any  Judge  is  just- 
ified in  using  such  a  term.  At  any  rate,  thirty  days 
had  to  be  served. 

We  were  in  a  far  better  position  than  an  Italian 
who  was  waiting  to  be  tried  for  murder,  and  whose 
cell  was  not  far  distant  from  ours. 

At  this  jail  we  had  to  perform  the  light  labour  of 
caning  chairs,  and  were  well  treated  in  the  way  of 
food  and  sleeping  accommodation  and,  in  addition, 
received  a  liberal  supply  of  chewing  tobacco. 

Being  interested  in  the  Italian,  the  first  thing  we 
did  on  regaining  our  liberty  was  to  enquire  as  to 
his  fate.  We  were  told  that  he  had  received  a  life 
sentence;  or,  as  our  alien  informant  strangely  ex- 
pressed it — "Antonia,  he  didn't  get  some  of  de  time, 
but  he  got  all  of  de  time." 

[44] 


A  Tramp's  Summer  Vacation 

Thus  what  promised  to  be  a  summer's  outing  full 
of  enjoyment,  came  to  a  disastrous  close  sooner  than 
we  expected.  And,  when  we  were  again  free,  the 
summer  season  was  practically  over,  the  visitors  were 
gradually  leaving  for  their  town  houses;  which  meant 
that  our  treatment  at  the  boarding  houses  would 
become  colder  and  colder  in  accordance  with  the 
number  of  boarders. 

At  this  time  I  accepted  employment  as  a  wood- 
chopper,  but  unfortunately  the  work  did  not  last; 
and  just  as  I  began  to  feel  the  inclination  for  this 
more  respectable  life,  I  was  discharged,  much  to 
Brum's  delight,  who  was  apparently  disgusted  with 
this  new  innovation  called  work,  and  could  not  under- 
stand any  man's  desire  for  it. 


[45] 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  night's  ride 

ALTHOUGH  I  had  at  this  time  become  lazy, 
losing  almost  all  sense  of  respectability,  I 
often  reproached  Brum  for  the  aimlessness 
of  this  existence ;  telling  him  we  must  seek  work  and 
attend  to  other  wants  than  those  of  the  body.  I 
would  tell  him  of  the  arts,  and  how  the  cultivation 
of  them  was  lost  to  us  through  a  continual  lack  of 
funds.  I  told  him  of  the  pleasures  of  reading,  visit- 
ing picture  galleries,  museums  and  theatres,  and  of 
the  wonders  of  instrumental  music,  and  of  the  human 
voice.  Once  when  we  were  passing  through  a  street 
in  New  Orleans,  I  paused  to  listen  to  a  woman  sing- 
ing. Brum,  like  the  faithful  companion  he  was, 
waited  my  pleasure,  until  he  too  seemed  to  become 
impressed  by  some  unusual  feeling.  The  song 
ended,  and  as  we  went  our  way,  I  said — "There, 
Brum,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  "O  lor,"  he 
answered,  awestruck,  "wasn't  she  a  blooming  cat  I" 
making  me  laugh  heartily  at  such  a  strange  expres- 
sion of  praise,  knowing  that  it  was  meant  to  be  truth- 
ful and  sincere. 

Having  done  a  few  days'  work,  as  mentioned  in 

[46] 


A  Night's  Ride 

the  preceding  chapter,  I  resolved  to  come  to  an  under- 
standing with  Brum  at  once  as  to  our  future  plans. 
With  this  end  in  view,  I  invited  him  to  a  drink,  and 
thus  began:  "What  do  you  intend  doing*?  Your, 
life  is  not  mine.  We  often  go  for  days  without 
reading  matter,  and  we  know  not  what  the  world  is 
saying;  nor  what  the  world  is  doing.  The  beauty 
of  nature  is  for  ever  before  my  eyes,  but  I  am  cer- 
tainly not  enriching  my  mind,  for  who  can  contem- 
plate Nature  with  any  profit  in  the  presence  of  others. 
I  have  no  leisure  to  make  notes  in  hopes  of  future 
use,  and  am  so  overpacking  my  memory  with  all  these 
scenes,  that  when  their  time  comes  for  use,  they  will 
not  then  take  definite  shape.  I  must  go  to  work  for 
some  months,  so  that  I  may  live  sparingly  on  my 
savings  in  some  large  city,  where  I  can  cultivate  my 
mind."  Now,  Brum's  method  of  begging  was  dif- 
ferent in  large  cities  from  what  it  was  in  the  country. 
In  the  latter  he  found  no  use  for  money,  except  for 
hair  cutting  or  shaving;  and  when  this  became  neces- 
sary he  never  failed  to  get  the  requisite  amount  for' 
his  purpose.  When  he  was  ready  to  have  this  office 
performed,  it  was  his  custom  to  interview  the  Cath- 
olic priest  of  the  community,  and  beg  the  use  of  his 
razor,  knowing  it  was  part  of  that  person's  creed  to 
shave  continually.  Of  course,  the  priest  would  not 
think  of  lending  his  razor  to  an  entire  stranger,  but 
seldom  refused  the  ten  cents  that  were  necessary  for 
that    operation.     But    in    the    large    cities.    Brum 

[47] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

scorned  private  houses,  and  begged  money  in  the 
streets,  and  in  their  various  stores;  purchased  his 
meals  at  a  restaurant,  and  paid  his  lodgings  like 
an  honest  man.  Therefore,  thinking  my  discontent 
was  mainly  owing  to  the  lack  of  funds,  he  said — 
"All  this  haste  from  place  to  place  is  not  at  all  to 
my  liking.  If  you  wish  to  settle  in  a  large  city,  I  can 
guarantee  two  dollars  a  day  at  the  least,  between  us, 
for  a  visit  to  the  theatre,  music  hall,  for  books,  papers, 
or  an  occasional  glass  of  grog."  "No,  no,"  I  said, 
"we  must  either  work  or  part.  There  are  three 
dollars,  half  of  my  earnings,  so  please  yourself 
whether  we  work  or  part,  whether  you  go  or  stay; 
for  I  have  already  decided  my  own  course.  What  is 
it  to  be?"  "Well,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause,  "we 
are  now  near  to  the  hop  country,  and  they  start  pick- 
ing sometime  next  week;  that  is  about  the  only  work 
to  be  had  at  this  time  of  the  year." 

Upon  this  we  had  several  drinks,  for  I  was  so 
pleased  at  Brum's  decision,  that  I  ordered  drink  after 
drink  with  bewildering  succession.  Brum  informed 
me  of  a  freight  train  that  was  to  leave  the  yards  at 
midnight,  on  which  we  could  beat  our  way  to  a  small 
town  on  the  borders  of  the  hop  country.  Not  know- 
ing what  to  do  with  ourselves  until  that  time  arrived, 
we  continued  to  drink  until  we  were  not  in  a  fit 
condition  for  this  hazardous  undertaking — except 
we  were  fortunate  to  get  an  empty  car,  so  as  to  lie 
down  and  sleep  upon  the  journey.     At  last  we  made 

[48] 


A  Night's  Ride 

our  way  towards  the  yards,  where  we  saw  the  men 
making  up  the  train.  We  kept  out  of  sight  until 
that  was  done  and  then  in  the  darkness  Brum  in- 
spected one  side  of  the  train  and  I  the  other,  in  quest 
of  an  empty  car.  In  vain  we  sought  for  that  com- 
fort. There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  ride  the 
bumpers  or  the  top  of  the  car,  exposed  to  the  cold 
night  air.  We  jumped  the  bumpers,  the  engine 
whistled  twice,  toot  I  toot  I  and  we  felt  ourselves 
slowly  moving  out  of  the  yards.  Brum  was  on  one 
car  and  I  was  on  the  next  facing  him.  Never  shall 
I  forget  the  horrors  of  that  ride.  He  had  taken 
fast  hold  on  the  handle  bar  of  his  car,  and  I  had 
done  likewise  with  mine.  We  had  been  riding  some 
fifteen  minutes,  and  the  train  was  going  at  its  full 
speed  when,  to  my  horror,  I  saw  Brum  lurch  for- 
ward, and  then  quickly  pull  himself  straight  and 
erect.  Several  times  he  did  this,  and  I  shouted  to 
him.  It  was  no  use,  for  the  man  was  drunk  and 
fighting  against  the  overpowering  effects,  and  it  was 
a  mystery  to  me  how  he  kept  his  hold.  At  last  he 
became  motionless  for  so  long  that  I  knew  the  next 
time  he  lurched  forward  his  weight  of  body  must 
break  his  hold,  and  he  would  fall  under  the  wheels 
and  be  cut  to  pieces.  I  worked  myself  carefully  to- 
wards him  and  woke  him.  Although  I  had  great  dif- 
ficulty in  waking  him,  he  swore  that  he  was  not 
asleep.  I  had  scarcely  done  this  when  a  lantern  was 
shown  from  the  top  of  the  car,  and  a  brakesman's 

[49] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

voice  hailed  us.  "Hallo,  where  are  you  two  going"?" 
"To  the  hop  fields,"  I  answered.  "Well,"  he 
sneered,  "I  guess  you  won't  get  to  them  on  ±is  train, 
so  jump  off,  at  once.  Jump  I  d'ye  hear*?"  he  cried, 
using  a  great  oath,  as  he  saw  we  were  little  inclined 
to  obey.  Brum  was  now  wide  awake.  "If  you 
don't  jump  at  once,"  shouted  this  irate  brakesman, 
"you  will  be  thrown  off."  "To  jump,"  said  Brum 
quietly,  "will  be  sure  death,  and  to  be  thrown  off 
will  mean  no  more."  "Wait  until  I  come  back," 
cried  the  brakesman,  "and  we  will  see  whether  you 
ride  this  train  or  not,"  on  which  he  left  us,  making 
his  way  towards  the  caboose.  "Now,"  said  Brum, 
"when  he  returns  we  must  be  on  the  top  of  the  car, 
for  he  will  probably  bring  with  him  a  coupling  pin 
to  strike  us  off  the  bumpers,  making  us  fall  under 
the  wheels."  We  quickly  clambered  on  top  and  in 
a  few  minutes  could  see  a  light  approaching  us, 
moving  along  the  top  of  the  cars.  We  were  now 
lying  flat,  so  that  he  might  not  see  us  until  he  stood 
on  the  same  car.  He  was  very  near  to  us,  when  we 
sprang  to  our  feet,  and  unexpectedly  gripped  him, 
one  on  each  side,  and  before  he  could  recover  from 
his  first  astonishment.  In  all  my  life  I  have  never 
seen  so  much  fear  on  a  human  face.  He  must  have 
seen  our  half  drunken  condition  and  at  once  gave  up 
all  hopes  of  mercy  from  such  men,  for  he  stood  help- 
less, not  knowing  what  to  do.  If  he  struggled  it 
would  mean  the  fall  and  death  of  the  three,  and  did 

[50] 


A  Night's  Ride 

he  remain  helpless  in  our  hands,  it  might  mean  being 
thrown  from  that  height  from  a  car  going  at  the 
rate  of  thirty  miles  an  hour.  "Now,"  said  Brum  to 
him,  "what  is  it  to  be*?  Shall  we  ride  this  train 
without  interference,  or  shall  we  have  a  wrestling 
bout  up  here,  when  the  first  fall  must  be  our  last? 
Speak*?"  "Boys,"  said  he,  affecting  a  short  laugh, 
"you  have  the  drop  on  me;  you  can  ride."  We 
watched  him  making  his  way  back  to  the  caboose, 
which  he  entered,  but  every  moment  I  expected  to 
see  him  reappear  assisted  by  others.  It  might  have 
been  that  there  was  some  friction  among  them,  and 
that  they  would  not  ask  assistance  from  one  another. 
For  instance,  an  engineer  has  to  take  orders  from  the 
conductor,  but  the  former  is  as  well  paid,  if  not 
better,  than  the  latter,  and  the  most  responsibility 
is  on  his  shoulders,  and  this  often  makes  ill  blood 
between  them.  At  any  rate,  American  tramps  know 
well  that  neither  the  engineer  nor  fireman,  his 
faithful  attendant,  will  inform  the  conductor  or 
brakesman  of  their  presence  on  a  train.  Perhaps 
the  man  was  ashamed  of  his  ill-success,  and  did  not 
care  to  own  his  defeat  to  the  conductor  and  his  fel- 
low brakesmen;  but  whatever  was  the  matter,  we 
rode  that  train  to  its  destination  and  without  any 
more  interference. 

As  we  neared  the  town  we  saw  a  large  camp  fire 
in  a  small  dingle  near  the  track,  at  which  a  man 
lay  asleep.     Seeing  this  comfortable  sight,  and  being 

[51] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

cold  and  tired,  we  made  up  our  minds  to  jump  off 
the  train  as  soon  as  possible,  and  to  return  to  that 
fire  for  a  few  hours'  comfort.  The  whistle  blew  for 
the  station,  and  the  train  began  gradually  to  slacken 
speed,  when  we  jumped  from  the  bumpers;  and 
our  limbs  being  stiff,  we  staggered  and  fell,  but  re- 
ceived no  hurt.  It  must  have  been  a  mile  or  more 
back  to  that  place,  but  we  arrived  there  in  due  time, 
and  without  waking  its  solitary  occupant,  were  soon 
stretched  out  fast  asleep  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 
When  we  awoke  the  stranger  had  already  been  to 
town,  had  returned  with  food,  and  was  now  making 
coffee  in  a  tomato  can,  all  of  which  he  generously 
offered  to  share  with  us.  This  I  gladly  accepted, 
but  Brum  declined  with  thanks,  saying  that  he  was 
always  capable  of  getting  his  own  meals,  and  if 
needs  be,  could  beg  enough  for  half  a  dozen  others. 
I  gave  this  stranger  my  entire  confidence,  and  soon 
learnt  that  he  had  come  to  these  parts  for  the  same 
purpose.  "We  three,"  said  he,  "will  work  together 
on  the  same  land,  and  under  the  one  master.  I  am 
a  moulder  by  trade,"  he  continued,  "and  a  week 
ago  I  had  a  hundred  dollars  saved,  but  went  on  the 
spree,  and  am  now  probably  without  a  cent."  To 
my  surprise,  at  this  stage  of  the  narrative,  he  unlaced 
his  right  boot  and  began  to  feel  in  its  toes,  at  the 
same  time  shaking  his  head  despondently.  After 
which  he  put  it  on  again  and  laced  it.     "Yes,"  he 

[52] 


A  Night's  Ride 

said,  taking  off  his  coat  and  feeling  the  lining,  "a 
week  ago  I  had  a  hundred  dollars  saved." 

Brum,  having  now  returned  from  town  laden  with 
sandwiches,  cakes,  etc.,  and  he  having  had  a  hot 
dinner  from  a  convent  we  packed  those  necessaries 
for  future  use,  and  started  on  foot  for  the  hopfields. 
Every  now  and  then  the  stranger — whom  Brum  at 
once  called  Australian  Red,  owing  to  his  being  born 
in  that  country,  and  his  having  a  florid  complexion 
— would  try  our  patience  extremely  by  sitting  on 
fallen  timber  and  taking  off  his  boot,  sometimes 
the  two;  and  after  feeling  in  them,  replacing  them 
on  his  feet,  with  a  sigh  of  disappointment.  Often 
he  would  take  off  his  hat  and  minutely  examine  the 
lining,  to  our  unfeigned  astonishment.  At  one  time 
we  lost  patience  with  him.  He  had  seen  a  low 
stack  of  timber,  and  requested  a  few  moments  de- 
lay. On  this  being  granted,  Australian  Red  began 
to  take  off  his  garments  one  by  one,  and  to  examine 
them.  Not  one  article  was  placed  aside  without 
having  undergone  a  thorough  scrutiny,  until  nothing 
but  his  shirt  remained.  All  this  waste  of  time  was 
very  trying  to  our  patience,  and  when  he  was  again 
dressed,  we  requested  him  at  once  for  all  to  put  a 
stop  to  such  manoeuvres.  We  walked  on  in  silence, 
but  had  scarcely  covered  a  short  mile,  when  Red 
was  seen  to  be  preparing  to  strip  for  another  in- 
vestigation.    On  seeing  which  Brum,  losing  a  little 

[53] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

patience,  said: — "Look  here,  old  fellow,  if  such  is 
going  to  be  your  conduct,  you  can't,  on  no  account, 
travel  any  further  with  us."  For  a  time  Australian 
Red  looked  undecided,  and  then  let  his  coat  slip 
back  to  its  position.  "It  is  like  this,"  he  said,  "I 
am  a  moulder  by  trade;  a  week  ago  I  had  a  hun- 
dred dollars  saved,  but  where  are  they  now?  It  is 
always  my  custom,"  he  continued,  "when  I  go  on 
the  spree,  to  secrete  my  money  in  some  safe  place. 
Although  I  have  no  recollection  of  doing  so,  I  am 
positively  assured  that  such  has  been  the  case;  and 
would  not  be  surprised  at  any  moment  to  discover 
a  twenty  dollar  bill  in  the  lining  of  my  clothes; 
but,  with  regards  to  the  boots,  I  am  now  thoroughly 
satisfied."  When  I  became  better  acquainted  with 
Australian  Red,  this  peculiarity  was  often  made  ap- 
parent to  me.  Perhaps  he  did  secrete  money,  for 
I  have  oftened  wondered  as  to  where  it  had  vanished. 
Whether  or  not,  it  was  certainly  never  to  be  found 
on  his  person,  and  must  have  been  slipped  under  the 
mat  in  strange  places,  dropped  into  vases,  or  hidden 
behind  looking  glasses. 

In  a  day  or  two  we  reached  the  hop-fields  and 
all  three  succeeded  in  being  hired  by  the  same  farmer. 
This  could  not  have  very  well  been  different,  as 
neither  one  would  have  otherwise  worked.  The  sea- 
son, if  I  remember  right,  lasted  between  three  and 
four  weeks,  which  we  began  and  finished,  but  were 
not  very   well   satisfied   with   the   financial   result. 

[54] 


A  Night's  Ride 

Our  total  earnings  were,  clear  of  all  expenses,  about 
forty  dollars,  and  with  that  amount  we  walked  to 
the  nearest  large  town  intending  to  beat  our  way 
to  New  York  and  paint  it  a  forty  dollar  red.  We 
reached  the  said  town,  and  made  enquiries  of  a 
switchman  as  to  when  the  next  freight  train  would 
be  leaving  for  New  York.  The  sight  of  a  flask  of 
whiskey  in  the  hands  of  Australian  Red  enlightened 
us  considerably  as  to  the  time  of  trains,  their  quali- 
fication for  carrying  human  freight,  and  the  cruel 
or  kind  disposition  of  their  attendant  crews.  We 
made  choice  of  a  train  leaving  about  dusk,  and  find- 
ing an  empty  car  on  a  side  track,  we  entered  it,  to 
wait  as  patiently  as  possible  until  that  time  came. 
We  were  not  so  quiet  as  we  should  have  been,  con- 
sidering that  we  were  trespassing  on  the  railroad; 
and  that  is  why  we  were  soon  startled  by  a  voice 
crying:  "What  are  you  doing  there'?  Do  you 
know  that  you  are  trespassing  on  the  railroad*?" 
With  that  the  marshal  of  the  town  stood  before  the 
open  door,  showing  the  star  of  his  authority  on  his 
dark  clothes.  "I  can't  get  any  sleep  day  or  night, 
through  you  fellows,"  he  said;  "consider  yourselves 
under  arrest."  Saying  this,  he  marched  us  off  at 
the  point  of  a  revolver,  and  began  seeking  the  judge 
for  our  trial  at  that  strange  hour  of  the  night. 


[551 


CHAPTER  VII . 

LAW    IN    AMERICA 

AS  he  marched  us  along,  he  made  several  en- 
quiries as  to  our  finances,  to  know  if  we 
were  prepared  to  pay  a  fine.  Being  as- 
sured of  this  he  took  a  very  despondent  view  of  our 
case. 

Brum  explained  afterwards,  when  it  was  too  late, 
that  trespassing  on  the  railroads  was  always  con- 
sidered a  very  serious  offence  during  this  month  of  the 
year,  when  men  were  returning  with  their  small  earn- 
ings from  the  hopfields;  which  were  not  sufficient 
to  enable  them  to  travel  as  passengers.  He  ex- 
plained that  trespassing  on  the  railroad  was  not  only 
overlooked,  but  was  openly  encouraged  when  men 
had  to  pick  hops  to  fill  their  pockets;  but  as  soon 
as  those  pockets  were  filled  by  picking  hops,  the 
local  magistrates  lost  no  time  in  giving  the  police 
strict  orders  to  fall  to,  arrest  and  detain,  so  that  a 
picker's  pocket  might  be  picked  by  them  of  his  little 
earnings. 

The  marshal  stopped  several  citizens,  enquiring  as 
to  the  whereabouts  of  a  person  named  Stevens.  To 
my  surprise,  we  were  not  lodged  for  the  night  in 

[56] 


Law  in  America 

the  common  jail,  but  were  led  into  a  public  house, 
which  in  that  country  is  referred  to  as  a  saloon. 
As  we  entered  this  place,  and  stood  in  front  of  its 
bar,  we  did  not  look  much  like  prisoners.  Brum 
called  for  four  drinks,  and  the  marshal  drank  his 
respect  for  us  in  a  very  friendly  manner  indeed. 
After  which  he  took  the  landlord  aside  for  a  short 
consultation,  in  which  I  heard  the  man  Stevens  men- 
tioned more  than  once.  Then  he  came  back  and  had 
another  drink,  this  time  at  the  expense  of  Australian 
Red.  Some  customers  now  arrived,  followed  by  a 
lean,  solemn  looking  person,  whom  the  marshal  took 
no  time  in  accosting  as  Judge  Stevens.  This  gen- 
tleman at  once  called  for  whiskey,  then  looked  from 
the  marshal  to  us,  and  from  us  to  the  marshal,  at 
the  same  time  nodding  his  head  approvingly  to  the 
latter.  The  marshal  cleared  his  throat  and  began: 
"I  found  these  men  trespassing  on  the  railroad,  and 
at  once  arrested  them."  The  judge  again  nodded 
his  head  in  approval  to  this  red,  burly  individual, 
who  had  made  a  claim  of  being  robbed  of  his  sleep 
day  and  night,  and  turning  to  us  said:  "Boys,  we 
have  to  put  a  stop  to  these  things,  drink  and  follow 
me."  He  led  the  way  into  a  small  back  room,  and 
we  followed  with  the  marshal,  the  citizens  bringing 
up  the  rear.  The  marshal  gave  evidence  of  our  ar- 
rest, making  special  mention  of  our  possession  of 
money.  The  judge  wished  to  be  informed  of  the 
exact  amount,  and  being  told  that  it  was  something 

[57] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

like  ten  dollars  each,  summed  up  the  case  at  once. 
"Boys,"  he  said,  "I  fine  you  each  five  dollars,  in  de- 
fault of  which  you  must  go  to  Syracuse  for  thirty 
days" — at  which  place  was  the  county  jail.  Now, 
I  was  always  outspoken,  and  was  never  forced 
by  fear,  under  any  circumstances,  to  conceal  my 
thoughts,  which  if  I  saw  real  injustice  or  hypocrisy, 
would  be  blurted  out  in  a  more  dignified  court  than 
this.  This  mock  trial,  which  at  first  had  been  highly 
amusing,  exasperated  when  it  came  to  paying  half 
of  my  hard  earnings,  so  I  told  this  judge  plainly  that 
my  friends  might  please  themselves,  but  that  he 
would  not  get  one  cent  out  of  me.  Brum  supported 
me  in  this,  but  Australian  Red  began  to  finger  his 
dollars,  whereat  the  marshal  quickly  snatched  them 
out  of  his  hand,  deducted  five  dollars,  which  he  gave 
to  the  judge,  and  returned  the  rest.  Judge  Stevens 
looked  at  us  steadily  for  a  time,  and  then  asked  this 
astounding  question :  "Boys,  how  much  are  you  pre- 
pared to  pay'?"  Brum,  who  had  very  little  sense 
of  justice,  and  being  such  a  good  beggar,  set  very 
little  value  on  money,  asked  the  judge  if  he  would 
accept  three  dollars  from  each  of  us.  If  I  had  been 
alone  at  this  time  I  would  have  paid  nothing,  but 
to  save  Brum  from  going  to  prison,  who  I  knew 
would  support  me  through  all,  I  satisfied  myself  that, 
if  the  judge  approved  of  this  amount,  I  would  pay 
it  without  further  comment.  The  judge  appeared 
to  weigh  the  matter  seriously,  and  then  cried,  with 

[58] 


Law  in  America 

a  magnanimity  that  was  irresistible — "Pass  over  the 
dollars,  boys;  you  shall  have  a  chance  this  time." 

The  trial  was  not  here  ended,  as  most  of  us  be- 
lieved. A  citizen,  who  had  been  an  interested  spec- 
tator of  this  scene,  and  who  had  been  fidgetting  in 
his  seat  for  some  time,  now  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
said — "Where  is  the  justice  of  this?  These  men 
are  all  guilty  of  the  same  offence,  and  yet  one  is 
fined  five  dollars,  and  the  other  two  get  off  more 
leniently,  with  the  loss  of  three  dollars  each;  this 
certainly  cannot  be  called  justice."  At  this  the 
Judge  showed  the  first  signs  of  passion.  "Sir,"  he 
shouted  in  wrath,  "who  is  the  Judge,  I  or  you"? 
If  you  ever  again  interfere  with  our  proceedings,  in 
this  manner,  I  shall  fine  you  for  contempt  of  court 
— contempt  of  court,  sir,  contempt  of  court."  This 
citizen  and  lover  of  justice,  collapsed  stricken  with 
awe,  bluffed  and  discouraged.  "Come,  boys,"  said 
the  Judge,  and  he  led  the  way  back  to  the  bar. 
There,  he  produced  a  two  dollar  bill,  which  was  part 
of  our  fine,  and  called  for  drinks  for  the  house.  We 
followed  his  example,  late  prisoners  and  citizens, 
and  were  all  happy  together  until  a  late  hour. 

The  marshal,  who  seemed  to  have  a  little  respect 
for  me,  for  having  shown  the  spirit  of  free  speech 
before  the  judge,  took  me  aside  and  asked  whether 
we  intended  to  take  advantage  of  the  invitation 
given  by  the  citizen  who  had  been  threatened  for 
contempt  of  court — to  spend  the  night  at  his  house. 

[59] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

"I  don't  think  so,"  I  said;  "we  have  had  enough 
of  this  town,  and  intend  leaving  it  to-night." 
Shortly  after  these  words  we  left  the  saloon,  but 
had  scarcely  reached  the  street  end,  when  I  heard 
steps  following,  and  to  my  surprise,  the  marshal  was 
soon  at  our  side.  Now  comes  the  most  extraordinary 
part  of  this  story,  which  I  have  often  been  diffident 
in  relating,  thinking  it  would  not  be  credited. 
"Boys,"  said  this  burly  fellow,  who  could  not  get 
any  sleep  day  or  night,  "get  you  to  the  railroad,  and 
if  any  one  interferes  with  you,  tell  them  that  the 
marshal  sent  you;  I  shall  be  with  you  in  about 
twenty  minutes."  We  were  soon  at  the  railroad, 
were  not  interfered  with,  and  the  marshal  followed 
in  a  short  time.  "Listen,"  he  said  to  us,  who  were 
again  trespassers  on  the  railroad,  at  his  pleasure  and 
instigation:  "There  is  a  train  already  made  up  to 
start  in  five  minutes'  time;  get  into  this  empty  car, 
and  by  heavens,  no  man  shall  interfere  with  you." 
Which  we  did,  and  when  the  train  started,  the  mar- 
shal was  there,  beside  the  car,  wishing  us  a  pleasant 
good-bye.  "Why,"  said  Brum,  when  I  commented 
in  astonishment  at  all  this,  "it  is  nothing  unusual. 
One  day,"  he  began,  "I  was  in  a  small  town  in  Ohio. 
Seeing  a  freight  train  leaving  the  station,  I  leaped 
into  an  empty  car,  just  as  the  train  started.  When 
safe  inside,  I  turned  and  stood  in  the  open  doorway, 
and  looking  out,  saw  the  marshal  standing  on  the 
platform,  looking  after  me,  so  I  waved  him  a  sar- 

[60] 


Law  in  America 

castic  farewell.  But  the  train,  instead  of  increasing 
in  speed,  began  to  slow,  and  coming  to  a  standstill, 
began  at  once  to  back  towards  the  station.  Before 
I  could  decide  on  my  course  of  action,  we  were 
again  standing  in  front  of  the  station,  with  my  car 
facing  the  marshal,  who  seemed  to  have  waited,  ex- 
pecting this  to  happen.  'Hallo,'  he  cried,  'come  out 
of  that  for  you  are  under  arrest.'  I  was  lodged  in 
jail,  and  was  next  morning  brought  up  for  trial. 
The  marshal  gave  evidence  as  to  seeing  me  jump 
the  train,  and  I  was  charged  with  that  offence. 
Having  no  money,  I  was  about  to  be  sent  to  jail 
when  the  judge  asked  the  marshal  to  examine  my 
hands  which,  although  I  had  done  no  work  for  a 
number  of  years,  were  still  hard  and  horny.  I  said 
that  I  was  a  seafaring  man,  and  exhibited  pictures 
of  boats  and  anchors  tattooed  on  my  arms,  at  the 
same  time  offering  to  show  the  Folly  Jane  in  full 
sail  across  my  breast.  My  strange  calling,  in  that 
inland  town  more  than  a  thousand  miles  from  the 
coast,  appeared  to  greatly  interest  the  judge,  who, 
after  several  friendly  questions,  discharged  me  with 
a  caution.  Instead  of  at  once  taking  advantage  of 
my  freedom,  I  sat  down,  waiting  the  end  of  the 
court.  Another  prisoner  was  then  brought  up,  who 
had  been  seen  loafing  on  the  station  platform  all 
the  previous  day.  This  prisoner  pleaded  guilty,  and 
said  that  he  had  waited  in  vain  for  hours  for  a 
freight  train  to  carry  him  to  his  destination,  he  hav- 

[61] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

ing  no  money  to  pay  his  fare  as  a  passenger. 
"Hold,"  cried  tJie  marshal,  "that  is  a  lie,  for  I  my- 
self saw  a  train  steaming  out  when  you  were  loafing 
indifferently  on  the  platform."  "Ten  dollars,  or 
sixty  days,"  said  the  judge.  This  will  show  you 
how  one  prisoner  was  charged  for  stealing  a  ride  on 
a  freight  train,  and  another  prisoner  was  charged 
for  not  doing  so  as  the  opportunity  occurred,  hap- 
pening in  the  same  court,  and  under  the  same  judge. 
Again,"  continued  Brum,  "I  know  a  prisoner,  in  an 
adjoining  state,  who  was  sentenced  to  ten  years  for 
embezzlement.  The  money  was  never  recovered, 
and  he  probably  has  it  safe  until  his  time  expires. 
This  prisoner  is  receiving  a  salary  of  ten  dollars  a 
week  for  keeping  the  prison  books,  is  allowed  to  con- 
verse with  any  one,  and  is  entrusted  to  go  the  rounds 
of  the  turnkey.  He  is  the  one  man  allowed  to  wear 
private  clothes,  and  is  even  allowed  at  night  the 
liberty  of  a  stroll  in  the  open  air,  and  unattended, 
with  the  one  stipulation  that  he  returns  before  a 
certain  hour  at  night.  And,"  continued  Brum,  "what 
with  the  money  he  has  concealed — held  probably  by 
a  relative — and  his  weekly  salary  of  ten  dollars  as 
the  bookkeeper  of  the  prison,  he  will  never  need 
work  more,  after  his  sentence  is  served.  But,  listen 
to  me,"  continued  Brum  more  earnestly,  "some  of 
these  queer  laws  are  to  a  tramp's  advantage.  The 
winter  is  already  here,  and  promises  to  be  a  most 
severe  one.     Now,  if  you  would  like  to  rest  and 

[62] 


Law  in  America 

grow  fat  during  the  coldest  months,  come  with  me 
to  Michigan.  You  can  there  enter  jails  without 
committing  offence  of  any  kind,  and  take  ten,  fifteen, 
twenty  or  thirty  days,  all  at  your  own  sweet  discre- 
tion. No  work  to  do,  good  food  to  be  had,  and  to- 
bacco daily  supplied.  There  is  nothing  else  but  beg- 
ging before  you,  for  the  coming  winter,"  said  Brum, 
warming  to  his  subject,  "but  if  you  like  to  enter 
with  me  those  blessed  havens  of  rest,  where  one 
can  play  cards,  smoke  or  read  the  time  away,  you 
will  become  strong  and  ready  for  work  when  the 
spring  of  the  year  arrives." 

This  project  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be  very  attrac- 
tive. For  one  thing,  it  was  a  long  journey  to  that 
part  of  the  country,  and  the  weather  being  cold,  we 
were  forced  to  travel  at  night  and  sleep  in  the  day. 
I  was  certainly  not  a  very  pleasant  companion  at  this 
time,  being  occupied  so  much  with  my  own  dreams, 
which  ever  took  the  one  shape  of  a  small  comforta- 
ble room  with  a  cosy  fire;  books,  papers,  tobacco, 
with  reading  and  writing  in  turns.  At  any  rate, 
we  decided  to  follow  Brum's  suggestion,  and,  in- 
stead of  going  to  New  York,  we  got  off,  and  took  an- 
other road. 

We  had  a  rough  time  in  beating  our  way  to  Michi- 
gan. We  were  marched  out  of  one  town  by  the 
marshal,  where  we  were  waiting  to  catch  a  train. 
This  necessitated  us  either  to  walk  three  miles  to 
catch  a  train  as  it  was  on  a  grade,  or  to  walk  ten 

[63] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

miles  to  the  next  watering  tank,  where  all  freight 
trains  stopped.  We  decided  on  doing  the  former. 
To  do  this  required  an  activity  of  which  I  hardly 
thought  Brum  to  be  capable.  The  grade  was  long 
and  before  the  train  reached  the  top,  its  speed  would 
be  slackened  to  about  ten  miles  an  hour,  or  less,  if 
it  had  heavy  freight.  It  was  necessary  to  lie  low, 
and  out  of  sight,  until  the  train  appeared,  and  then 
run  beside  it,  so  as  to  leap  and  catch  the  handle 
bar,  the  feet  at  the  same  time  catching  the  iron  step; 
after  doing  which  we  could  step  on  to  the  bumpers, 
or  climb  the  ladder  to  the  top  of  the  car.  If  either 
the  hand  or  foot  failed  to  do  its  duty,  it  meant  a  fall, 
and  a  very  serious  accident  or  death.  I  was  the 
youngest  and  most  active,  and  leapt  the  first  part 
of  the  train.  As  soon  as  I  was  safe  I  looked  around 
the  car,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Australian 
Red  succeed  just  three  cars  behind,  and  Brum  suc- 
ceeding on  the  next  car  to  him.  When  we  reached 
the  next  stopping  place,  we  all  got  together  on  the 
same  car,  so  as  to  be  prepared  for  any  trouble  with 
the  train's  crew.  A  brakesman  passed  over  the  top, 
and  shouted  to  us  in  a  friendly  manner;  passed  and 
re-passed  several  times  before  the  train  reached  its 
destination,  but  treated  our  presence  with  the  utmost 
indifference,  which  is  often  the  case  in  that  part  of 
America. 

What  a  difference  it  made  in  our  feeling,   this 
changing  of  seasons  I     It  seemed  but  a  few  days  ago 

[64] 


Law  in  America 

the  birds  were  singing,  the  orchards  were  heavy  and 
mellow  with  fruit,  and  we  could  sleep  in  the  open 
air  all  night.  It  was  now  necessary  to  light  great 
fires,  when  the  front  parts  of  our  bodies  burned  whilst 
a  cold  chill  crept  up  and  down  the  spine;  and  the 
first  fall  of  snow,  which  was  likely  to  occur  at  any 
time,  would  soon  make  it  difficult  to  enjoy  even  this 
small  comfort. 

At  last  we  reached  a  small  town  in  Michigan 
which.  Brum  informed  us,  was  the  county  town ;  and 
which,  said  he,  chuckling  with  delight,  had  an  ex- 
ceedingly pleasant  jail. 


[65] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    PRISONER    HIS    OWN    JUDGE 


"N 


OW,"  said  Brum,  as  the  freight  train 
steamed  into  the  town  and  came  to  a 
standstill,  "we  must  see  the  marshal." 
With  this  end  in  view  we  walked  towards  the  pas- 
senger depot,  which.  Brum  informed  us,  was  visited 
by  the  marshal  several  times  a  day,  so  that  he  might 
the  better  accost  such  tramps  as  were  going  through 
that  town.  We  arrived  at  that  place  and  stamped 
up  and  down  the  platform,  to  circulate  our  blood,  for 
it  was  now  snowing  heavily,  and  the  wind  blowing 
in  small  gusts  that  discovered  us,  shelter  wherever  we 
would. 

How  the  snow  falls  in  the  north  I  Flake  on  flake 
falling  incessantly,  until  the  small  dingles  are  almost 
on  a  level  with  the  uplands.  It  throws  itself  on 
the  leaves  of  Autumn,  and  holds  them  down  in  se- 
curity from  the  strongest  winds.  It  piles  great 
banks  against  people's  doors,  and  mothers  and  daugh- 
ters are  made  prisoners  to  their  own  hearths,  until 
fathers  and  sons  set  to  and  cut  a  path  to  the  open 
thoroughfare.  Special  snow  trains  are  at  work 
clearing  the  track  to  make  the  way  easier  for  passen- 

[66] 


A  Prisoner  His  Own  Judge 

ger  trains  and  freight  trains  that  run  on  passenger 
hnes,  being  loaded  with  cattle  or  other  perishable 
goods;  whilst  other  freight  is  often  delayed  for  days, 
and  sometimes  weeks. 

We  had  been  here  some  fifteen  minutes,  when  we 
saw  the  marshal  coming  down  the  road  leading  to 
the  station,  the  bright  star  of  his  authority  being 
seen  distinctly  on  his  breast.  "Now,"  said  Brum, 
"let  me  be  the  spokesman,  and  I  will  arrange  for 
a  month's  comfort."  By  this  time  the  marshal 
stood  before  us.  "Boys,"  he  began,  "cold  weather 
for  travelling,  eh*?"  "We  don't  feel  the  cold,"  was 
Brum's  reply.  "You  will  though,"  said  the  mar- 
shal, "this  is  but  the  beginning,  and  there  is  a  long 
and  severe  winter  before  you,  without  a  break.  You 
would  certainly  be  better  off  in  jail.  Sixty  days 
in  our  jail,  which  is  considered  one  of  the  best,  if  not 
the  best,  in  Michigan,  would  do  you  no  harm,  I 
assure  you."  "As  for  that,"  said  Brum,  "we  might 
take  thirty  days  each,  providing  of  course,  that  you 
made  it  worth  while.  What  about  tobacco  and  a 
drink  or  two  of  whiskey?"  "That'll  be  all  right," 
said  the  marshal,  "here's  half  a  dollar  for  a  drink, 
and  the  sheriff  will  supply  your  tobacco,"  "No, 
no,"  objected  Brum,  "give  us  a  dollar  and  three 
cakes  of  tobacco,  and  we  will  take  thirty  days,  and 
remember,  not  a  day  over."  The  marshal  produced 
the  three  cakes  of  tobacco,  seeming  to  be  well  pre- 
pared for  these  demands,  and  giving  us  a  paper  dol- 

[67] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

lar,  requested  us  to  go  to  Donovan's  saloon,  which 
we  would  find  in  the  main  street,  where  he  would 
see  us  later  in  the  day;  "when  of  course,"  he  added, 
winking,  "you  will  be  supposed  to  be  just  a  bit 
merry." 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  I  asked  Brum, 
as  we  went  our  way  to  Mr.  Donovan's  saloon.  "It 
simply  means  this,"  he  said,  "that  the  marshal  gets 
a  dollar  each  for  every  arrest  he  makes — in  our  case 
three  dollars;  the  judge  receives  three  or  four  dollars 
for  every  conviction,  and  the  sheriff  of  the  jail  is 
paid  a  dollar  a  day  for  boarding  each  prisoner  under 
his  charge;  we  benefit  by  a  good  rest,  warmth,  good 
food  and  plenty  of  sleep,  and  the  innocent  citizens 
have  to  pay  for  it  all." 

We  had  not  much  difficulty  in  finding  Donovan's 
saloon,  which  we  entered,  and  called  for  whiskey. 
It  so  happened  that  two  strangers  were  there,  who 
had  made  a  considerable  stake  in  the  backwoods, 
and  had  come  to  this  town  to  squander  their  earn- 
ings. We  therefore  came  into  many  a  free  drink, 
through  the  liberality  of  these  men.  About  an  hour 
and  a  half  had  elapsed  when  we  discovered  ourselves 
to  be  alone  in  the  bar,  and  without  means  of  pro- 
curing more  liquor.  "We  had  better  be  going,"  said 
Brum,  and  we  passed  into  the  street.  Brum  saw 
the  marshal  coming  up  the  road  and  began  singing 
in  a  lusty  voice,  to  the  astonishment  of  some  of  the 
storekeepers.     Australian  Red,  being  the  worse  for 

[68] 


A  Prisoner  His  Own  Judge 

drink,  and  forgetting  that  we  had  only  to  feign  this 
part,  began  to  roar  like  a  bull,  merry  in  earnest.  On 
this  the  marshal  quickly  crossed  the  street  and  in 
the  hearing  of  several  citizens,  shouted  in  an  au- 
thoritative voice: — "I  arrest  you  for  being  drunk 
and  disorderly,"  and  we  followed  him  like  lambs. 
We  were  then  led  to  the  sheriff's  house,  adjoining 
the  jail.  That  gentleman,  being  in,  received  us  with 
open  arms  saying — "Welcome,  boys,  you  want  thirty 
days,  and  thirty  you  shall  have,  no  more  or  less; 
and  you  will  be  none  the  worse  for  it,  I  promise 
you,  at  the  end  of  the  month."  He  then  made  a 
few  casual  items  in  a  large  book,  roughly  descriptive 
of  our  weight,  height,  and  personal  appearance,  and 
then  led  the  way  through  two  or  three  corridors, 
until  we  were  confronted  by  a  large  iron  door.  This 
he  opened  with  an  iron  key,  and  we  were  ushered 
into  a  large  room,  where  were  assembled  between 
thirty  or  forty  prisoners.  Some  were  reading,  some 
were  pacing  to  and  fro,  and  several  batches  of  them 
were  playing  cards.  What  a  reception  we  had, 
bringing  in  a  fresh  supply  of  information  from  the 
outside.  "Have  you  seen  Detroit  Fatty  *?"  asked 
one.  "Or  the  Saginaw  Kid^"  asked  another.  "Or 
Chicago  Slim?"  asked  another.  Brum,  who  seemed 
to  know  these  wonderful  persons,  answered  accord- 
ing to  his  knowledge. 

In  this  large  room,  for  the  common  use  of  the 
prisoners,  were  twenty  or  more  cells,  to  which  they 

[69] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

retired  for  sleep,  but  were  never  locked  in — except 
maybe,  an  occasional  prisoner,  who  might  be  waiting 
trial  under  a  charge  of  grand  larceny,  manslaughter, 
or  murder.  Supper  was  soon  brought  in,  and  it  was 
a  good  substantial  meal.  Its  quantity  seemed  to 
be  more  than  idle  men  needed,  if  they  had  three  such 
meals  every  day,  and  its  quality  would  satisfy  me 
in  any  position  in  life.  What  a  pleasure  it  was  that 
night  to  be  in  warmth,  and  with  our  minds  eased 
of  a  month's  anxiety.  "What  time  are  you  going 
to  do?"  asked  one.  "Thirty  days,"  answered  Brum. 
"Plenty,"  said  the  other.  "There  is  more  jails  than 
this,  and  not  much  difference  in  them,  and  to  go  out 
in  the  cold  for  a  day  or  two  makes  us  better  appre- 
ciate the  warmth  and  comfort  within." 

Next  morning  we  were  taken  by  the  sheriff  to 
the  court-house,  where  a  number  of  town  people  were 
assembled,  owing  to  the  more  interesting  trial  of  a 
local  man.  I  have  often  thought  with  amusement 
of  this  scene.  Despite  the  judge's  severe  expression, 
and  his  solemn  deliberate  utterance,  we  knew  what 
to  expect, — thirty  days,  no  more  or  less.  The  sheriff 
whispered  to  the  judge,  and  the  judge  nodded  sagely, 
at  the  same  time  casting  his  eyes  in  our  direction. 
We  were  charged  with  being  drunk  and  disorderly, 
and  with  disturbing  the  public  peace.  "He  did  not 
see,"  he  said,  "why  peaceable  citizens  should  be  dis- 
turbed in  this  way  by  drunken  strangers,  and  would 
fine  us  seven  dollars  and  costs,  in  default  of  which 

[70] 


A  Prisoner  His  Own  Judge 

we  would  be  lodged  in  the  county  jail  for  thirty 
days."  We  were  then  led  back  by  the  sheriff,  and 
when  we  were  again  among  the  prisoners,  they  seemed 
to  express  very  little  curiosity  as  to  our  sentences, 
knowing  it  was  our  wish  that  we  should  receive  thirty 
days,  and  that  the  judge  was  at  our  pleasure — we 
being  in  fact  our  own  judges. 

Every  morning  the  sheriff  required  half  a  dozen 
prisoners  to  sweep  and  clean  the  court-house,  which 
was  situated  about  half  a  mile  from  the  jail.  Aus- 
tralian Red  and  myself  went  with  him  several  morn- 
ings, for  a  little  fresh  air,  but  prisoners  could  please 
themselves,  and  Brum,  I  know,  never  left  the  jail 
during  the  whole  thirty  days.  It  was  an  understood 
thing  that  any  prisoner  could  discharge  himself  on 
these  occasions,  if  inclined,  without  any  fear  of  cap- 
ture. The  Marshal  and  the  Judge  had  had  their 
dollars  for  arrest  and  conviction,  and  I  suppose,  the 
sheriff  charged  for  board  and  lodging,  without  men- 
tion of  a  prisoner's  escape.  Perhaps  they  were 
afraid  of  bringing  back  an  escaped  prisoner,  for  fear 
he  might  make  some  awkward  disclosures.  At  any 
rate,  liberty  could  be  had  by  a  very  deliberate  walk 
and  there  was  certainly  no  need  to  make  a  desperate 
dash  for  it.  Of  course,  there  was  no  reason  why 
any  prisoner  should  seek  to  escape  these  conditions, 
which  were  of  his  own  seeking,  and  which,  during 
this  unpleasant  time  of  the  year,  could  not  in  any 
way  be  bettered  by  homeless  men. 

[71] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

After  serving  our  sentence,  and  the  sheriff  exact- 
ing a  promise  from  us  to  return  again  that  winter, 
if  not  the  following,  we  sought  another  jail  some 
twenty  miles  from  the  last,  which  prisoners  had 
spoken  highly  of.  We  were  told  that  there  was  no 
necessity  at  this  place  of  going  through  the  form  of 
an  arrest,  but  that  we  could  go  straight  in  out  of  the 
cold.  The  Sheriff  would  at  once  receive  us  at  his 
house,  learn  our  wants,  while  the  judge  would  attend 
to  us  on  the  following  morning. 

We  arrived  at  this  place,  and  everything  turned 
out  as  described.  The  jail  was  no  different  from 
the  other.  We  were  catered  for  as  customers  that 
would,  if  treated  with  courtesy  and  good  living,  re- 
turn winter  after  winter,  and  patronise  this  place 
in  preference  to  visiting  the  more  congenial  climate 
of  the  south.  At  this  place  we  sentenced  ourselves 
to  another  thirty  days.  Our  room,  like  the  other, 
was  a  large  iron  cage,  in  which  were  twenty-four 
cells  in  a  double  row,  main  floor  and  gallery,  like 
little  cages  within  it.  As  we  entered  this  large  cage, 
the  sheriff  opening  the  iron  door,  a  number  of  jail- 
birds were  singing  merrily,  not  for  liberty,  but  en- 
joying such  captivity.  There  was  only  one  real 
prisoner  here,  who  was  waiting  trial  under  a  charge 
of  manslaughter,  and  he  was  the  one  prisoner  to  be 
locked  in  his  cell  at  night;  and,  in  that  cell,  had 
waited  trial  a  most  cold  blooded  murderer.     Here 

[72] 


A  Prisoner  His  Own  Judge 

we  had  the  usual  amusements  of  card  playing,  sing- 
ing and  relating  experiences. 

The  real  prisoner — for  none  of  the  others  had 
been  guilty  of  any  offence,  having  entered  of  their 
own  free  will — was  very  unfortunate  in  having  a 
pair  of  wags  quartered  in  the  cell  above  him.  These 
two  practical  jokers  made  a  figure  of  their  bed 
clothes,  and  letting  it  down,  dangled  it  in  front  of 
this  prisoner's  cell.  The  poor  wretch,  happening  to 
be  awake,  and  thinking  this  was  Bill  Henderson, 
murderer,  and  late  occupant  of  the  cell,  come  to 
haunt  him,  leaped  from  his  bed,  crying  with  a  hor- 
ror-stricken voice — "Bill  Henderson,  by  God  I"  Be- 
fore he  could  recover  from  his  fear  and  make  a  more 
calm  investigation,  the  figure  was  withdrawn.  All 
this  happened  as  expected,  and  the  prisoners  were 
delighted,  for  they  had  been  hinting  all  day  about 
Bill  Henderson's  ghost,  so  that  it  might  take  hold 
of  this  poor  wretch's  nerves.  Once  only  during  the 
night  was  this  accomplished,  so  that  their  victim 
might  have  no  suspicion  as  to  its  being  a  genuine 
ghost.  Every  time  the  sheriff  appeared  the  prisoner 
complained  to  him  of  this  ghost  murderer,  plead- 
ing for  a  removal,  or  an  early  trial.  That  gentle- 
man invariably  listened  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  seem- 
ing to  have  some  notion  of  the  truth,  by  glancing 
at  the  faces  of  the  other  prisoners.  How  these 
sheriffs,  marshals  and  constables,  despise  cowardice, 

[73] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

and  how  they  respect  the  intrepidity  of  dangerous 
men.  Many  a  sheriff,  I  believe,  has  surrendered 
his  prison  keys  to  the  lynchers  and  the  lawless  mobs, 
forgetting  his  duty  in  disgust  at  the  exhibition  of 
fear  in  one  for  whom  he  is  responsible.  And  many 
a  sheriff  would  lay  down  his  life  to  protect  a  crimi- 
nal who  with  cool  nerve  faces  his  cell,  callous  and 
indifferent. 

We  visited,  and  were  entertained,  in  several  jails 
during  this  winter,  and  emerged  from  the  last  in  the 
middle  of  April. 

I  have  heard  since  that  this  system  of  boodle,  as 
it  was  called,  was  in  the  following  winter  entirely 
squashed.  A  sheriff,  it  seemed,  being  of  an  avari- 
cious disposition,  had  interfered  with  the  quality  and 
quantity  of  the  prisoners'  rations.  Therefore,  when 
respectable  citizens  visited  the  jail  to  speak  a  few 
sympathetic  words  to  the  prisoners,  which  they  usu- 
ally did  on  Sunday,  those  discontented  jail-birds 
complained  of  insufficient  picking;  and  informed  the 
citizens  that  they  had  been  guilty  of  no  offence;  that 
they  had  entered  the  jail  through  being  promised 
enjoyment,  and  that  those  expectations  had  not  been 
realised.  On  hearing  this,  the  citizens  formed  a 
committee,  and  soon  discovered  the  whole  system  to 
be  rotten.  Seeing  how  they  had  been  robbed,  they 
deposed  several  officers  and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that 

[74] 


A  Prisoner  His  Own  Judge 

travellers  never  again  visited  that  part  of  America 
in  quest  of  comfortable  jails. 

For  a  day  or  two  the  least  exertion  tired  us,  owing 
to  our  winter's  inactivity,  but  take  it  all  in  all,  we 
were  certainly  in  good  bodily  condition.  It  was 
now  that  Australian  Red  made  his  first  proposal. 
He  knew  a  fruit  farm,  where  he  had  been  previously 
employed,  "in  this  very  State,"  said  he,  "on  the 
shores  of  Lake  Michigan."  "How  long  does  the 
work  last*?"  I  asked.  "All  the  summer,"  he  an- 
swered, "and  good  pay  for  an  active  man."  "All 
right,"  I  said,  "if  I  can  make  a  pretty  fair  stake, 
I  shall  then  return  to  England  and  home."  Brum 
agreeing  to  this,  we  lit  a  fire  that  evening  near  a  water 
tank,  intending  to  take  the  first  freight  train  that 
came  our  way.  When  the  train  arrived,  we  still 
dallied  at  the  fire,  which  was  a  considerable  distance 
from  the  track.  It  whistled  before  we  expected  and 
began  its  journey.  "Break  away,"  cried  Australian 
Red,  making  a  rush  for  the  departing  train.  The 
speed  of  the  train  was  increasing  and  when  I  reached 
its  side  I  was  almost  afraid  to  attempt  to  board 
it.  Australian  Red  succeeded,  but  when  we  reached 
the  next  stopping  place,  we  were  greatly  disap- 
pointed to  find  that  Brum  had  been  left  behind. 
We  got  off  and  waited  the  arrival  of  other  trains, 
thinking  that  he  would  soon  follow  us,  but  as  Brum 

[75] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

did  not  appear  on  any  of  them,  we  continued  our 
journey,  thinking  to  see  him  later.  I  never  saw 
him  again.  He  had  complained  of  the  year  not  be- 
ing sufficiently  aired  for  freedom,  and  had  proposed 
another  short  term  in  jail.  No  doubt,  after  losing 
us  he  had  done  this. 


[76] 


CHAPTER  IX 

BERRY    PICKING 

WE  reached  the  fruit  country  a  week  or 
two  before  picking  commenced,  but 
although  we  were  in  advance  of  time, 
and  without  a  cent,  the  generosity  of  the  farmers 
supplied  all  our  wants.  The  authorities  did  not  in 
the  least  interfere  with  us,  though  we  lit  large  camp 
fires  on  the  outskirts  of  the  towns,  took  possession  of 
hay  ricks  and  empty  out-houses,  and  loafed  for  hours 
in  their  principal  streets.  They  knew  well  that  the 
assistance  of  every  man  would  be  needed  to  strip 
the  vines  of  their  berries,  which  promised  a  supply 
exceeding  that  of  former  years.  Friday  morning,  it 
being  generally  known  that  picking  was  to  commence 
on  the  following  Tuesday,  Australian  Red  remarked 
that  it  was  now  time  to  interview  the  farmer,  for 
whom  he  had  previously  worked.  With  this  object 
in  view,  we  left  the  pretty  inland  port  of  St.  Joseph, 
and  strolling  leisurely,  we  reached  that  farm  in  two 
hours,  it  being  only  five  miles  from  the  town.  The 
farmer  and  his  wife,  who  employed  several  servants 
of  both  sexes,  but  were  without  children  of  their 

[77] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

own,  at  once  recognised  Australian  Red,  and  gave 
him  a  kindly  welcome,  which  spoke  well  for  Red's 
gentlemanly  behaviour  in  the  past.  The  old  man 
told  him,  in  his  bad  English,  that  there  would  al- 
ways be  plenty  of  work  for  Red,  and  for  others  whom 
he  might  bring  with  him. 

I  was  about  twenty-three  years  of  age  at  this 
time,  appeared  much  younger  and  not  in  any  way 
looking  like  a  dangerous  youth,  was  soon  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  the  old  people.  So  much  so,  that 
at  the  end  of  the  summer,  when  the  pickers  were 
leaving,  the  result  being  as  satisfactory  to  themselves 
as  to  the  farmer,  the  kind  old  couple  inveigled  me 
into  a  private  place  and  proposed  to  adopt  me  as 
their  own  son,  and  that  they  would  teach  me  how 
to  run  the  farm,  which  they  said  would  become 
mine  at  their  death.  The  only  way  to  answer  these 
kind  people  was  to  say  that  I  already  had  a  good 
home,  and  parents  living  in  England,  and  that  I  in- 
tended to  return  there  with  the  profits  of  this  sum- 
mer's work. 

The  earliest  fruit  was  the  strawberries,  whose  vines 
grew  from  six  inches  to  a  foot  above  the  ground. 
We  knelt  in  the  hot  blazing  sun  which  beat  so  pow- 
erfully on  our  bended  necks  that  the  flesh  became 
in  a  day  or  two  the  dark  colour  of  walnut  stain. 
The  soil,  being  dry  and  sandy  burned  through  the 
clothing  until  our  knees  were  covered  with  a  rash. 
The  effect  of  this  extreme  heat  often  affected  peo- 

[78] 


Berry  Picking 

pie's  reasons,  and  sometimes  killed  them  outright. 
Berry  picking  in  the  South  has  other  dangers  of  a 
worse  kind.  I  shall  never  forget  seeing  a  man  leap 
screaming  to  his  feet,  at  the  same  time  wringing  his 
right  hand  in  agony.  He  had  parted  the  thick  vines, 
in  quest  of  the  berries  that  were  concealed  under  the 
leaves,  and  in  doing  so,  had  disturbed  a  deadly  snake, 
which  had  bitten  his  offending  hand.  The  snake 
was  very  small,  but  far  more  deadly  than  many 
others  of  twenty  times  its  length  and  weight.  Sev- 
eral deaths  occurred  this  way  in  my  berry  picking 
experience  in  the  South.  There  was  not  much  fear 
of  this  happening  in  the  State  of  Michigan,  but  we 
often  wished  we  could  crawl  under  the  low  green 
leaves  of  the  vine  to  escape  for  a  time  the  rays  of 
the  sun.  The  farm  extended  to  the  shores  of  the 
lake,  and  when  our  day's  work  was  at  an  end,  we 
hastened  there,  and  plunged  into  the  cold  and  un- 
salted  water  which  never  grew  warm,  and  could 
be  swallowed  with  impunity.  After  which  we  would 
return,  cook  supper  in  the  open  air,  and  wrapping 
ourselves  in  blankets  lie  all  night  under  the  thick 
foliage  of  a  tree.  The  berries  were  sent  every  night 
to  Chicago  for  the  morrow's  market;  but,  there  be- 
ing no  market  on  Sunday  our  day  of  rest  was  Satur- 
day, and  we  picked  on  Sunday  for  Monday's  market. 
Early  every  Saturday  morning  Australian  Red  would 
go  to  town  in  the  farmer's  buggy,  and  return  to  us 
later  in  the  day  with  papers,  tobacco,  matches,  and 

[79] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

such  provisions  as  we  needed;  for  eggs,  butter,  milk, 
potatoes  and  fruit  could  be  had  of  the  farmer,  the 
latter  delicacy  being  free  for  the  trouble  of  picking. 
Red  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  man  above  the  average 
intelligence,  and,  as  far  as  my  knowledge  went, 
seldom  made  an  error  in  grammar  or  the  pronun- 
ciation of  words.  But  that  he  should  think  words 
required  a  different  pronunciation  in  reading  from 
what  they  did  in  speaking,  was  a  great  shock  to  me, 
and  made  some  of  his  most  illiterate  hearers  look 
from  one  to  another  with  stupefaction.  Now,  I  was 
always  greatly  interested  in  fights  and  glove  con- 
tests, and  Red,  claiming  to  have  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  the  best  of  Australia,  and  himself  claiming 
to  be  an  amateur  middle  weight,  whose  prowess  many 
a  professional  had  envied,  often  entertained  me  with 
little  anecdotes  of  them,  which  had  escaped  the  no- 
tice of  sporting  papers.  So,  on  the  first  Saturday 
of  our  picking,  Red  returned  from  town  with  a  paper 
which  gave  a  full  and  graphic  account,  round  by 
round,  of  a  contest  for  the  light  weight  champion- 
ship of  the  world,  the  principals  hailing  respectively 
from  Australia  and  America.  Red's  sympathies,  of 
course,  were  with  the  former,  who,  to  his  elation, 
had  defeated  his  opponent.  Being  a  very  modest 
man,  Australian  Red  had  always  quietly  perused  his 
paper,  making  few  comments,  so  as  to  avoid  all  argu- 
ment; but  on  this  occasion,  he  opened  his  paper  and 
began  to  read  with  a  boldness  that  astonished  me. 

[80] 


Berry  Picking 

But  what  surprised  me  most  was  the  way  in  which 
he  made  use  of  an  expletive  syllable,  which  sounded 
so  quaint  as  to  make  laughter  irresistible.  For  in- 
stance, this  passage  occurred  in  describing  the  fifth 
round:  "After  he  was  knocked  down,  he  picked 
himself  up  painfully,  and  the  blood  flowed  from  his 
nostrils  in  copious  streams."  I  could  not  help 
laughing  out  at  his  strange  delivery,  and  Red,  think- 
ing my  sympathies  were  with  the  bruiser  from  the 
Antipodes,  chuckled  with  a  real,  but  more  quiet  de- 
light. We  had  enough  food  for  conversation  that 
day,  in  commenting  on  this  contest.  I  like  to  sec 
a  good  scientific  bout  by  men  who  know  the  use  of 
their  hands,  but  would  rather  walk  twenty  miles 
than  see  animals  in  strife.  Although  of  a  quiet  dis- 
position, my  fondness  for  animals  is  likely  at  any 
time  to  lead  me  into  danger.  After  reading  cases 
of  vivisection  I  have  often  had  dreams  of  boldly 
entering  such  places,  routing  the  doctors  with  a  bar 
of  iron,  cutting  the  cords  and  freeing  the  animals, 
despite  of  any  hurt  I  might  receive  from  bites  and 
scratches.  Perhaps  I  should  cut  a  ridiculous  figure, 
walking  through  the  crowded  streets  with  a  poor 
meek  creature  under  each  arm,  but  that  would  not 
bother  me  much  in  the  performance  of  a  humane 
action. 

After  a  good  month's  work  at  the  strawberries, 
we  had  three  weeks  at  picking  raspberries,  followed 
by  four  weeks  blackberry  picking.     There  was  good 

[81] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

money  to  be  made  at  the  strawberries,  but  much  less 
at  the  raspberries.  The  blackberry  picking  was  as 
lucrative  as  the  strawberry,  and,  being  cultivated  on 
the  low  bushes  that  seldom  required  us  to  stoop,  was 
not  such  a  tedious  occupation  as  the  latter,  whose 
vines  were  often  half  buried  in  the  soil.  After  pay- 
ing all  expenses,  I  had,  at  the  end  of  the  season, 
cleared  over  a  hundred  dollars. 

It  was  now  the  last  of  the  picking,  and  the  farmer 
paid  us  off.  He  was  a  German,  and  nearly  all  the 
farmers  in  that  part  of  the  country  were  the  same, 
or  of  that  descent,  and  they  used  the  German  lan- 
guage at  every  opportunity,  and  never  used  English 
except  when  it  was  necessary  to  do  so.  "You  vos 
come  again,  next  summer,"  said  he  to  Australian 
Red  and  myself  as  we  were  leaving — "for  I  know 
you  two  plenty."  This  remark  made  me  blush,  for 
it  seemed  as  much  as  to  say  that  his  knowledge  of 
us  was  more  than  he  desired — but  we  understood 
his  meaning.  He  offered  to  drive  us  to  St.  Joseph, 
but  we  preferred  to  walk,  as  we  had  all  day  and  half 
the  night  to  wait  before  the  boat  started  from  that 
place  to  Chicago. 

"Now,"  I  said  to  Australian  Red,  as  we  jogged 
along,  "I  am  going  to  hoard  the  bulk  of  my  dollars, 
and  shall  just  keep  two  or  three  handy  for  food  and 
incidental  expenses,  for  I  am  now  about  to  beat  my 
way  from  Chicago  to  New  York.  From  the  latter 
place  I  shall  pay  my  passage  to  Liverpool,  clothe  my- 

[82] 


Berry  Picking 

self  better,  and  then  take  train  for  South  Wales, 
and  still  have  a  pound  or  two  left  when  I  arrive 
home."  "Come  and  have  a  drink,"  said  Red,  "and 
I  will  then  inform  you  how  any  man  without  former 
experience  on  sea  or  ship,  neither  being  a  sailor,  fire- 
man or  cook,  can  not  only  work  his  passage  to  Eng- 
land, but  be  paid  for  doing  so." 

We  had  had  no  intoxicating  liquor  for  several 
months,  and,  though  we  had  passed  one  or  two  of 
these  places  on  our  way  to  St.  Joseph,  on  which  he 
had  gazed  in  a  rather  too  friendly  manner,  his  cour- 
age, up  to  this  moment,  had  not  been  equal  to  an 
invitation.  "Well,"  I  said,  pleased  with  the  pros- 
pect of  not  only  saving  my  passage  money,  but  also 
of  earning  my  train  fare  in  England — "it  will  cer- 
tainly be  cold,  taking  this  deck  voyage  across  the 
lake  in  the  early  hours  of  morning,  and  a  glass  of 
whiskey  will  keep  some  warmth  in  us."  Alas  I  the 
usual  thing  happened — we  got  full;  and  what  with 
the  dead  effects  of  the  drink,  and  a  rough  passage 
across,  we  arrived  in  Chicago  feeling  cold,  stiff,  and 
in  many  other  ways  uncomfortable. 

I  have  often  heard  salt  water  mariners  sneer  at 
these  fresh  water  sailors,  but,  after  crossing  the  At- 
lantic some  eighteen  times,  and  making  several  pas- 
sages across  the  lakes,  my  opinion  is  that  these  vast 
inland  lakes  are  more  dangerous  to  navigate,  and 
far  less  safe  than  the  open  seas. 

Of  course,  we  had  to  have  more  whisky,  after  the 

[83] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

voyage,  and,  having  had  to  sleep,  its  effect  was  al- 
most instantaneous.  Not  altogether  losing  my 
senses,  I  suggested  to  Red  that  we  should  go  to  some 
hotel,  have  breakfast,  and  then  go  to  bed  for  an 
hour  or  two,  say  till  dinner  time,  which  would  re- 
fresh us.  It  was  now  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  Red  had  unfortunately  got  into  conversation 
with  a  gentleman  who  knew  something  of  Australia. 
"Yes,"  he  said,  gravely,  after  listening  to  my  pro- 
posal— "you  are  young,  and  you  certainly  look  drunk 
and  sleepy,  and  had  better  follow  your  own  advice. 
The  hotel  is  next  door  but  one  to  this,  and  you  will 
find  me  here  when  you  return."  Not  liking  to  take 
him  by  the  shoulder,  and  to  gently  try  to  force  him 
away  from  this  stranger  in  whose  conversation  he 
evidently  seemed  to  take  a  great  delight,  not  to 
mention  doing  such  an  action  before  the  landlord's 
face,  I  left  him,  made  arrangements  at  the  hotel  for 
two,  and  then  went  to  bed.  Having  had  a  good 
sleep,  and  a  substantial  meal,  and  feeling  thoroughly 
refreshed,  I  now  returned  to  Red,  whom  I  found 
in  the  centre  of  half  a  dozen  loafers,  besides  the 
gentleman  to  whom  I  have  already  referred.  On 
my  appearance,  he  staggered  to  his  feet  and  came 
to  meet  me,  and  then,  taking  me  on  one  side,  began 
in  this  way:  "You  have  just  come  in  the  nick  of 
time,  for  the  glasses,  as  you  see,  are  empty.  Pay 
for  all  drinks  called  for,  and  I  will  make  it  all  right 
with  you  in  the  morning."     "What  is  the  matter^" 

[84] 


Berry  Picking 

I  asked.  "What  have  you  done  with  over  eighty 
dollars?"  Winking  artfully,  and  with  a  smile 
meant  to  be  cunning,  he  said — "I  have  hidden  my 
money,  as  I  usually  do  in  these  cases.  Most  likely 
it  is  in  the  lining  of  my  coat;  but,  wherever  it  is, 
you  may  depend  on  it  as  being  quite  safe."  If  he 
had  had  the  assistance  of  a  score  of  the  most  in- 
veterate drunkards,  I  know  he  could  not  in  this  short 
time  have  squandered  between  eighty  and  ninety 
dollars.  Red  had  earned  ninety-five  dollars  and  a 
half,  and,  up  to  the  time  of  my  leaving  him,  had 
spent  but  very  little.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  had  been  robbed,  and  that  this  befell  him  in  all 
his  sprees.  After  calling  for  a  round  of  drinks,  I 
left  the  house,  knowing  that  Red  would  soon  fol- 
low, which  he  did,  and  at  once.  I  persuaded  him 
to  bed,  and  the  next  morning  saw  the  same  peculiari- 
ties as  before — his  going  into  corners,  up  side  streets, 
to  feel  the  lining  of  his  clothes.  He  was  not  sat- 
isfied at  seeing  no  tear  in  the  lining  of  his  cap,  but 
must  hold  it  in  his  hand  and  feel  every  inch  of  it. 
"Somewhere  on  my  person,"  he  reiterated,  "I  have 
secreted  three  twenty  dollar  bills.  I  have  a  distinct 
recollection  of  doing  so,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I 
cannot  remember  what  part."  "You  have  been 
robbed,"  I  answered,  with  a  little  disgust.  Not  will- 
ing to  leave  him  in  his  present  circumstances,  and 
only  too  sorry  that  I  had  not  done  so  when  he  was 
almost  as  well  off  as  myself,  I  shared  my  dollars 

[85] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

with  him,  saying  in  an  offended  manner — "The 
sooner  we  squander  this  stuff  the  better  it  will  please 
us."  We  spent  it  in  one  week  in  Chicago,  and  were 
again  without  a  cent.  "Again,"  I  said  with  some 
exaggeration,  "winter  is  here,  and  we  are  in  the 
same  position  as  at  the  end  of  last  summer.  What 
now?"  "We  are  without  money,"  said  Red,  "but 
there  is  still  nothing  to  prevent  us  from  our  first 
intention  of  visiting  England.  We  will  beat  our 
way  to  Baltimore  without  delay.  I  am  known  in 
that  port  by  the  cattle  foremen  and  owners,  and  we 
are  almost  sure  of  a  ship  as  soon  as  we  arrive." 
After  all,  I  thought,  eager  for  a  new  experience,  one 
trip  will  not  come  amiss. 


[86] 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    cattleman's    OFFICE 

WE  found  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Rail- 
road easy  to  beat,  and  were  at  the  end 
of  our  journey  in  a  very  few  days. 
When  we  entered  the  cattleman's  office,  from  which 
place  owners  and  foremen  were  supplied  with  men, 
it  was  evident  to  me  that  Red  was  well  known  in 
this  place,  hearing  him  make  enquiries  of  Washing- 
ton Shorty,  New  York  Fatty,  Philadelphia  Slim,  and 
others.  At  this  place  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Oklahoma  Sam,  an  extremely  quiet  man,  very  much 
respected  in  that  he  had  a  cold  blooded  fashion  of 
whittling  wood  and  paring  his  nails  with  a  steel 
blade  nearly  a  foot  long.  Another  queer  character 
was  Baldy,  of  whom  Australian  Red  related  this 
anecdote.  When  stranded  in  Liverpool  and  hungry, 
he  once  took  up  a  position  in  front  of  a  confection- 
er's shop,  and,  being  an  extremely  lazy  man,  placed 
his  shoulder  against  the  lamp-post,  and  settled  him- 
self for  a  long  reverie.  He  might  have  been  there 
an  hour  or  more,  when  the  baker  came  out  and  com- 
plained of  Baldy's  person,  being  ragged  and  dirty, 
as  the  reason  why  people  hurried  past  his  establish- 
ment; telling  Baldy  straight  that  his  presence  was 

[87] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

detrimental  to  the  trade  of  any  shop  that  catered 
to  the  inner  man.  Baldy,  too  lazy  to  speak,  much 
less  show  any  signs  of  anger,  took  a  firmer  bearing 
on  the  post  and  settled  to  a  more  prolonged  reverie. 
Two  or  three  hours  elapsed  when  the  baker,  who 
had  come  several  times  to  stare  at  him  through  the 
window,  rushed  out  and  shouted  with  much  irrita- 
tion— "For  Heaven's  sake,  go:  here,  take  this  six- 
pence, and  let  me  see  the  last  of  you."  Baldy,  who 
had  not  wished  the  baker  good  morning,  wished  him 
good  afternoon,  and  strolled  quietly  away,  with  the 
price  of  a  good  meal  in  his  hand.  Nobody,  who 
thoroughly  understood  Baldy's  disposition,  would 
wonder  at  this;  for  this  success,  after  all,  was  only 
the  result  of  laziness,  but  most  of  his  companions 
gave  him  credit  for  using  unique  strategy  in  obtain- 
ing money. 

Shelter  only  was  supplied  at  this  office,  and  that 
of  the  barest  kind,  being  no  other  than  the  hard 
floor,  and  blanketless.  Owing  to  this  the  men,  who, 
after  making  a  trip  often  had  to  wait  sometimes  two 
or  three  weeks  for  another  chance,  were  all  good 
beggars.  Some  of  them  had  begged  Baltimore  off 
and  on  for  ten  years,  and  knew  every  good  house  in 
the  city.  One  would  say — "I  shall  go  to  the  dress- 
maker for  my  breakfast" ;  another  intended  to  go  to 
the  dairy,  the  fat  woman,  or  the  dentist;  the  latter 
being  always  good  for  money  in  the  shape  of  a  ten 
cent  piece. 

[88] 


The  Cattleman's  Office 

We  had  been  at  this  office  three  days,  when  the 
shipper  sent  Australian  Red  and  myself,  with  four 
others,  to  rope  cattle  at  the  yards.  Seven  hundred 
and  fifty  head  of  cattle  had  to  be  shipped  that  night, 
and  the  ropes  had  to  be  placed  on  their  necks  or 
horns,  with  which  they  had  to  be  fastened  to  their 
places  aboard  ship.  After  Red  had  taken  a  rope, 
and  given  me  a  practical  illustration  of  what  was 
to  be  done,  the  cattle  began  to  arrive.  They  were 
very  wild,  having  just  come  from  the  plains  of  the 
west.  There  was  a  long  narrow  shoot  in  the  yards, 
with  one  end  blocked,  and  when  a  number  of  cattle 
had  been  driven  into  this,  and  had  wedged  them- 
selves too  close  and  fast  to  be  capable  of  any  wild 
movement,  it  was  our  business  to  slip  a  noose  around 
their  horns,  or  necks,  draw  this  rope  as  tight  as  possi- 
ble, and  fasten  it  with  a  knot,  so  as  to  prevent  it 
from  slipping.  When  this  was  accomplished,  the 
end  of  the  shoot  was  opened,  and  they  were  rushed 
out  with  their  ropes  dangling,  and  a  fresh  batch  were 
then  driven  in  and  served  likewise.  After  which 
they  were  put  in  cars  and  sent  to  the  ship.  Now 
the  foreman,  knowing  Red,  asked  him  if  he  would 
like  to  go  with  him,  to  which  Red  answered  yes,  at 
the  same  time  putting  in  a  good  word  for  me,  which 
at  once  met  with  the  foreman's  approval.  We  were 
not  therefore  surprised,  on  our  return,  when  the  ship- 
per called  us  into  his  private  office  to  sign  articles — 
Red  to  receive  two  pounds  for  the  trip,  and  myself 

[89] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

thirty  shillings,  an  amount  seldom  paid  to  a  raw 
hand,  except  on  the  recommendation  of  owner  or 
foreman. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  night's  experience, 
when  the  cattle  were  brought  to  the  ship  in  a  train 
of  cars.  A  large  sloping  gangway  was  erected  to 
span  the  distance  between  ship  and  shore,  and  up 
this  incline  the  poor  beasts  were  unmercifully  prod- 
ded with  long  poles,  sharpened  at  the  end,  and  used 
by  the  shore  cattlemen.  The  terror-stricken  ani- 
mals were  so  new  to  the  conditions,  that  they  had 
no  notion  of  what  was  expected  of  them,  and  al- 
most overleaped  one  another  in  their  anxiety  to  get 
away.  What  with  the  shout  of  savage  triumph, 
the  curse  of  disappointment,  and  the  slipping  and 
falling  of  the  over-goaded  steers,  I  was  strongly 
tempted  to  escape  the  scene.  As  the  cattle  were  be- 
ing driven  aboard,  we  cattlemen,  who  had  signed 
for  their  future  charge,  caught  their  ropes,  which 
we  were  required  to  fasten  to  a  strong  stanchion 
board.  Sometimes  one  would  run  up  behind,  and 
prevent  himself  from  turning.  On  one  of  these 
occasions,  I  crossed  the  backs  of  others,  that  had 
been  firmly  secured,  so  as  to  force  this  animal  to  a 
proper  position.  The  animal,  whose  back  I  was 
using  for  this  purpose,  began  to  heave  and  toss,  and 
at  last  succeeding  in  throwing  me  across  the  back 
of  the  other,  this  one  tossing  and  rearing  until  I  was 
in  danger  of  my  life,  only  the  pressure  of  the  other 

[90] 


The  Cattleman's  Office 

beasts  preventing  him  from  crushing  my  limbs. 
Taking  possession  of  his  rope,  I  held  it  to  a  cattle- 
man, who  was  standing  waiting  and  ready  in  the 
alley,  and  he  quickly  fastened  this  refractory  animal 
to  the  crossboards.  Now  the  foreman  had  been 
watching  this,  and  coming  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  was  a  good  man  with  cattle,  said  he  would  like 
me  to  be  the  night  watchman.  This  undoubtedly 
does  require  a  good  man,  as  I  soon  discovered,  on 
the  first  night  out.  There  were  two  lots  of  cattle 
aboard,  and  for  these  two  foremen,  two  lots  of 
cattlemen,  and  two  watchmen.  As  all  hands  are 
available  in  the  day,  any  difficulty  with  the  cattle 
can  soon  be  attended  to;  if  necessary,  all  hands 
taking  part.  But  when  there  is  any  trouble  at 
night,  one  watchman  only  has  the  assistance  of  the 
other,  who,  of  course,  expects  the  same  aid  from 
him,  in  cases  of  emergency.  Now  if  a  number  of 
cattle  have  broken  loose,  and  worked  themselves 
into  intricate  positions,  the  watchman  is  supposed 
to  awake  the  foreman  and  his  men  to  assist  him, 
but  one  would  rather  struggle  all  night  with  his 
difficulties  than  to  take  these  men  at  their  word, 
knowing  their  peevishness  and  dislike  for  a  man 
who  has  disturbed  them  from  a  sound  sleep.  A 
watchman  is  therefore  told  to  call  up  all  hands,  if 
he  cannot  cope  with  the  cattle  under  his  charge, 
but  he  is  never  expected  to  do  so. 

What  soon  breaks  the  spirit  of  these  wild  animals 
[91] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

is  the  continual  motion  of  the  vessel.  There  is 
always  plenty  of  trouble  at  first,  when  they  slip  for- 
ward and  backward,  but  in  a  few  days  they  get 
their  sea-legs,  and  sway  their  bodies  easily  to  the 
ship's  motion.  The  wild  terror  leaves  their  eyes, 
and,  when  they  can  no  more  smell  their  native  land, 
they  cease  bellowing,  and  settle  calmly  down.  This 
restlessness  breaks  out  afresh  when  nearing  shore 
on  the  other  side,  and  again  they  bellow  loud  and 
often,  long  before  the  mariner  on  the  look-out  has 
sighted  land. 

We  also  had  on  this  trip  two  thousand  head  of 
sheep,  quartered  on  the  hurricane  deck.  When  we 
were  six  days  out  there  came  a  heavy  storm,  and 
the  starboard  side  was  made  clean,  as  far  as  pens 
and  sheep  were  concerned,  one  wave  bearing  them 
all  away.  This  happened  at  night,  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  the  sheep  men  were  elated  at  having 
less  work  to  do  during  ihe  remainder  of  the  voyage. 
The  cattle,  being  protected  on  the  main  deck,  and 
between  decks,  and  their  breath  filling  the  air  with 
warmth,  make  the  cattleman's  lot  far  more  comfort- 
able than  that  of  the  sheep-men.  The  condition 
of  the  cattle  can  be  seen  without  difficulty,  but  ten 
or  fifteen  sheep  lying  or  standing  in  the  front  of  a 
crowded  pen,  may  be  concealing  the  dead  or  dying 
that  are  lying  in  the  background.  For  this  reason 
it  is  every  morning  necessary  to  crawl  through  the 
pens,  far  back,  in  quest  of  the  sick  and  the  dead, 

[92] 


The  Cattleman's  Office 

and  it  is  nothing  unusual  to  find  half  a  dozen  dead 
ones.  The  voyage  would  not  be  considered  bad  if 
thirty  sheep  only  died  out  of  two  thousand. 

What  a  strange  assortment  of  men  were  these 
cattlemen  and  sheepmen.  One  man,  called  Blacky, 
a  bully  without  being  a  coward,  fell  in  love  with  a 
small  white  cat,  which  we  had  found  in  the  fore- 
castle. His  ruffianism  at  once  disappeared,  and 
every  time  he  was  at  liberty,  instead  of  looking  for 
trouble  with  his  fellow-men,  he  could  be  seen  peace- 
fully nursing  this  cat,  at  the  same  time  addressing 
it  endearingly  as  "Little  White  Dolly,"  and  such 
simple  language  as  a  child  might  use. 

It  was  our  duty  to  keep  the  cattle  standing,  and 
not  to  allow  them  to  rest  too  long  on  their  knees; 
and  not  let  them,  on  any  acount,  stretch  full  length 
in  the  pens.  One  reason  for  this  was  that  a  kneeling 
steer  would  be  overstepped  by  his  nearest  neighbour, 
and  if  the  latter  happened  to  rise,  their  ropes,  which 
were  so  fastened  as  to  give  them  very  little  freedom, 
would  be  tightened  and  crossed,  bringing  their  heads 
together  in  such  close  proximity,  that  they  would 
make  frantic  efforts  to  escape  each  other's  presence. 
And  another  reason  for  not  allowing  them  to  lie 
down  for  any  length  of  time  was  that  their  joints 
would  become  so  stiff  as  to  make  them  almost  in- 
capable of  rising,  though  goaded  by  the  most  heart- 
less cruelty.  I  used  the  most  humane  methods  to 
attain  this  end,  and  sought  to  inspire  terror  in  them 

[93] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

by  the  use  of  the  most  ferocious  war-cry,  which  often 
succeeded.  If  that  failed  to  raise  them,  I  struck 
them  with  a  flat  stick  on  the  haunches,  which  they 
could  scarcely  feel,  at  the  same  time  not  forgetting 
to  use  my  voice.  Not  succeeding  in  this,  I  resorted 
to  the  old  remedy,  which  rarely  fails,  standing  at 
their  backs  and  twisting  their  tails.  A  bullock  can 
kick  in  any  direction.  There  is  terrible  power  in 
his  side  kick,  also  his  front  kick,  throwing  his  hind 
leg  forward  with  a  speed  that  is  remarkable  for  such 
an  unwieldy  animal.  But  his  back  kick,  when  you 
stand  back  to  back  with  him,  has  not  the  least  power 
to  cause  hurt.  The  other  watchman  and  myself 
had  about  an  equal  number  of  cattle  under  our 
charge,  and  when  I  was  in  difficulty  he  kindly  came 
to  my  assistance,  and  I  did  likewise  for  him,  although 
he  seldom  seemed  to  need  other  help  than  his  own. 
We  made  our  rounds  about  every  half  hour.  Some- 
times I  found  a  steer  in  the  alley;  by  some  means 
or  other  he  had  cleared  the  head  board  and,  still 
being  a  prisoner,  stood  fastened  outside  the  pen  in- 
stead of  inside.  Another  time  we  would  find  one 
standing  with  his  tail  to  the  head-board,  instead  of 
his  head,  owing  to  the  rope  getting  loose,  or  being 
broken;  after  which  he  had  turned  himself  around 
to  see  if  there  was  any  way  of  escape  behind  him. 
It  required  great  care,  in  cases  of  this  kind,  to  place 
them  again  in  their  original  positions. 

Up  till  the  fourth  night  we  had  experienced  no 

[94] 


The  Cattleman's  Office 

bad  weather,  and  the  cattle  had  been  quiet  and 
requiring  little  care.  On  this  particular  night  my 
attention  had  been  drawn  several  times  to  a  big 
black  steer,  which,  time  after  time,  had  persisted  in 
lying  down.  At  last,  in  pity  for  the  poor  beast,  I  let 
him  rest,  thinking  to  get  him  into  a  standing  position 
at  the  last  moment,  when  I  went  off  duty,  after 
calling  the  foreman  and  his  men.  But  when  that 
last  moment  came  I  failed  in  all  my  efforts  to  raise 
this  animal,  whose  joints,  I  suppose,  had  become 
stiff  after  a  prolonged  rest.  I  was  not  therefore 
greatly  surprised  when  the  foreman  came,  after  I 
had  gone  off  duty,  to  the  forecastle,  with  the  com- 
plaint of  having  found  a  number  of  cattle  lying 
down,  and  one,  he  said,  in  particular,  which  must 
have  been  lying  down  half  of  the  night.  "When 
I  left  the  cattle,"  I  said,  "nothing  seemed  to  be 
wrong."  "Come  up  and  see  this  one,"  he  answered. 
I  followed  him  on  deck,  and  there  I  saw  several 
cattlemen  standing  in  front  of  a  pen,  in  which  I 
recognised  the  big  black  steer.  He  was  now  lying 
full  length  in  the  pen,  the  others  having  had  to 
be  removed  for  his  convenience.  "See  this,"  said 
the  foreman,  "this  creature  should  be  standing. 
Twist  his  tail,"  he  continued,  to  a  cattleman,  who 
at  once  obeyed.  During  this  operation  another 
cattleman  fiercely  prodded  the  poor  creature's  side 
with  a  pitchfork,  which  must  have  gone  an  inch 
into  the  body.     At  the  same  time  another  beat  the 

[95] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

animal  about  the  head  with  a  wooden  stake,  dan- 
gerously near  the  eyes.  The  animal  groaned,  and 
its  great  body  heaved,  but  it  made  no  attempt  to 
move  its  legs.  "Wait,"  said  the  foreman  then,  "we 
will  see  what  this  will  do."  He  then  took  out  of 
his  mouth  a  large  chew  of  tobacco,  and  deliberately 
placed  it  on  one  of  the  animal's  eyes.  My  heart 
sickened  within  me,  on  seeing  this,  and  I  knew  that 
I  would  have  to  be  less  gentle  with  these  poor 
creatures  to  save  them  the  worst  of  cruelty.  In  a 
second  or  two  the  poor  beast,  maddened  by  pain, 
made  frantic  efforts  to  rise,  tried  again  and  again, 
and  after  seeing  its  great  sides  panting,  and  hearing 
a  number  of  pitiful  groans,  it  succeeded  in  the  at- 
tempt. 

These  cattlemen  are,  as  a  rule,  great  thieves,  and 
well  the  sailors  and  firemen  know  it,  and  especially 
the  steward  and  cook.  One  evening,  when  the  men 
had  finished  their  day's  work,  and  I  was  preparing 
to  go  on  duty  for  the  night,  I  heard  Blacky  propose 
a  night's  raid  on  the  captain's  chickens,  which  were 
kept  in  a  small  coop  under  the  bridge,  and  rather 
difficult  to  rob,  considering  the  bridge  was  always 
occupied  by  the  captain  or  one  of  his  first  officers. 
But,  next  morning,  on  coming  to  the  forecastle  I 
was  not  greatly  surprised  to  smell  a  peculiar  and  a 
not  unpleasant  odour,  coming  from  that  place. 
Blacky  and  another  had  made  their  raid  during  the 
previous  night,  leisurely  killing  the  chickens  on  the 

[96] 


The  Cattleman's  Office 

spot,  which  was  certainly  the  best  plan.  When  I 
descended  the  forecastle  steps,  I  saw  that  the  stove 
was  red  hot,  on  which  was  a  large  tin  can  full  of 
potatoes,  onions  and  chicken.  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  say  that  I  did  not  scruple  to  partake  of  this  rogue's 
mess,  knowing  from  experience  how  this  company  ran 
their  boats,  allowing  their  stewards  such  miserly 
small  amounts  for  provisions,  that  the  common  sail- 
ors and  firemen  did  not  get  sufficient  food  to  eat, 
bad  as  its  quality  was. 

When  we  arrived  at  Liverpool,  we  were  not  long 
clearing  our  decks  of  cattle.  After  one  is  forced 
to  lead,  which  is  often  difficult  to  do,  they  all  follow, 
and  it  is  the  same  with  the  sheep.  It  is  more  often 
necessary  to  control  their  mad  rush  than  to  goad 
them  on.  We  received  payment  aboard — Red  two 
pounds,  myself  thirty  shillings,  one  other  a  pound, 
and  the  rest  ten  shillings  each,  which  was  to  board 
and  lodge  us  ashore  for  six  da3^s,  when  we  would 
have  passenger  tickets  back  to  the  port  from  which 
we  had  sailed.  If  the  ship,  from  any  cause,  was 
delayed  over  this  number  of  days,  we  were  to  re- 
ceive an  extra  half  a  crown  for  every  day  over.  Red, 
having  been  in  Liverpool  several  times  previously, 
led  the  way  to  a  cheap  house,  at  which  place  I  per- 
suaded them  to  pay  down  six  nights'  lodging,  so  as 
to  make  sure  of  some  shelter,  not  forgetting  to  cau- 
tion them  against  drink,  as  they  would  need  every 
penny  of  the  remainder  for  food,  which  would  be 

[97] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

more  difficult  to  obtain  in  this  country  than  their 
own. 

These  cattlemen  are  recognised  as  the  scum  of 
America,  a  wild,  lawless  class  of  people,  on  whom 
the  scum  of  Europe  unscrupulously  impose.  They 
are  an  idle  lot,  but,  coming  from  a  land  of  plenty, 
they  never  allow  themselves  to  feel  the  pangs  of 
hunger  until  they  land  on  the  shores  of  England, 
when  their  courage  for  begging  is  cooled  by  the 
sight  of  a  greater  poverty.  Having  kind  hearts, 
they  are  soon  rendered  penniless  by  the  importuni- 
ties of  beggars.  Men  waylay  them  in  the  public 
streets  for  tobacco,  and  they  are  marked  men  in  the 
public  houses — marked  by  their  own  voices.  First 
one  enters  and  makes  a  successful  appeal,  who  quickly 
informs  another,  and  others  as  quickly  follow. 
These  wild,  but  kind-hearted  men,  grown  exceed- 
ingly proud  by  a  comparison  of  the  comfortable 
homes  of  America  with  these  scenes  of  extreme  pov- 
erty in  Liverpool  and  other  large  sea-ports,  give  and 
give  of  their  few  shillings,  until  they  are  them- 
selves reduced  to  the  utmost  want.  And  so  it  was 
on  this  occasion.  The  next  day  after  landing,  I 
made  my  way  to  the  public  library,  for  I  had  not 
enjoyed  books  for  a  considerable  time.  When  I  re- 
turned from  this  place,  Australian  Red  at  once  ap- 
proached me  to  borrow  money,  with  his  old  hint  of 
having  some  concealed.  On  questioning  the  others, 
six  in  number,  I  found  that  these  men  had  not  the 

[98] 


The  Cattleman's  Office 

price  of  a  loaf  of  bread  among  them.  As  for  myself, 
I  had  not  been  drinking,  and  had  only  spent  seven 
shillings,  and  a  part  of  that  had  been  given  away 
in  charity.  For  even  in  the  coffee-house  ragged  lads 
set  their  hungry  eyes  on  one's  meal,  and  sidle  up 
with  the  plaintive  remark  that  they  will  be  thank- 
ful for  anything  that  is  left.  In  such  cases,  who 
could  help  but  attend  to  them  at  once,  before  at- 
tempting to  enjoy  his  own  meal^  As  far  as  my 
money  went  I  maintained  Red  and  the  others,  but 
the  day  previous  to  sailing,  there  was  not  one  penny 
left.  We  were  to  sail  the  following  night,  but 
would  not  be  supplied  with  food  until  breakfast 
time  the  next  morning.  When  that  hour  arrived 
we  were  all  weak  from  hunger,  not  having  had  food 
for  over  forty  hours.  When  the  food  did  arrive  in 
the  forecastle,  these  hungry  men  strove  for  it  like 
wild  beasts,  without  any  system  of  equal  shares. 

What  a  monotonous  life  we  now  had  for  thirteen 
days.  No  work ;  nothing  to  do  but  to  eat  and  sleep. 
And  how  I  had  intended  to  enjoy  this  part  of  the 
trip!  The  few  hours  I  had  spent  in  the  library, 
had  brought  back  my  old  passion  for  reading,  and, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  distress  of  others,  I  had 
now  been  the  happy  possessor  of  some  good  books. 
This  was  not  to  be;  for  I  was  to  lie  in  my  bunk 
with  but  one  consolation — that  I  had  sufficient  to- 
bacco under  seal  with  the  steward  to  last  me  until 
the  end  of  the  voyage.     This  new  experience  was 

[99] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

a  disappointment,  and  it  was  my  firm  resolve,  on 
returning  to  Baltimore,  to  seek  some  more  remuner- 
ative employment,  to  save,  and  then  to  work  my 
passage  back  to  England  in  this  same  way,  and  go 
home  with  my  earnings. 

We  had  a  rough  passage  back,  the  ship  being 
light,  with  little  more  than  ballast.  One  night  the 
vessel  made  a  fearful  roll,  and  the  lights  went  dark, 
and  we  thought  every  moment  that  she  would  turn 
over.  A  coal  bunker  was  smashed  by  the  waves, 
and  large  pieces  of  coal  bounded  across  the  deck 
with  a  force  that  would  have  broken  every  bone  in 
a  man's  body.  Pieces  of  heavy  wood,  that  would 
have  cut  off  a  man's  feet  as  clean  as  a  knife,  slid 
across  the  deck  from  side  to  side.  We  thought  the 
end  had  come,  especially  when  we  saw  an  old  sailor 
rush  on  deck  in  his  bare  feet,  his  shirt  being  his 
only  apparel.  Sleep  was  out  of  the  question  for 
some  hours,  for  we  were  forced  to  cling  to  our  bunks 
with  all  our  strength,  to  save  ourselves  from  being 
thrown  out,  when  we  would  be  rolled  here  and  there, 
and  soon  battered  into  an  unconscious  state. 

We  reached  Baltimore  on  the  thirteenth  day,  and 
at  once  made  our  way  to  the  cattlemen's  office,  in- 
tending on  the  morrow  to  make  better  arrangements 
for  the  future. 


[loo] 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    STRANGE    CATTLEMAN 

IT  was  now  the  beginning  of  October,  and  the 
mornings  and  the  evenings  were  getting  colder. 
Although  Baltimore  is  a  southern  town,  and 
was  therefore  free  from  the  severe  cold  of  towns 
further  north,  it  was  not  so  far  south  as  to  make 
plenty  of  clothes  dispensable.  We  two,  Australian 
Red  and  myself,  tramped  this  city  day  after  day  for 
work,  but  without  success.  There  were  only  two 
courses  left  open  to  us :  to  make  three  or  four  more 
trips  on  cattle  boats,  until  the  coming  of  spring, 
when  there  would  probably  be  work  in  abundance, 
or  to  go  oyster  dredging  down  the  Chesapeake  Bay, 
a  winter  employment  that  was  open  to  any  able- 
bodied  man  in  Baltimor-e,  experience  not  being  nec- 
essary. Red  soon  placed  the  latter  beyond  consid- 
eration by  relating  his  own  hard  experience  of  the 
same.  First  of  all  the  work  was  very  hard,  and 
of  a  most  dangerous  kind;  the  food  was  of  the 
worst;  and,  worse  than  all,  the  pay  was  of  the 
smallest.  A  man  would  often  cut  his  hands  with 
the  shells,  which  would  poison  and  swell,  and  render 
him   helpless    for   some    time    to   come.     "Again," 

[lOl] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

said  Red,  "a  man  is  not  sure  of  his  money,  small 
as  it  is.  A  few  years  ago,"  he  continued,  "it  was 
a  common  occurrence  for  a  boat  to  return  and  have 
to  report  the  loss  of  a  man.  These  dredgers  were 
never  lost  on  the  outward  trip,  but  when  homeward 
bound,  and  the  most  hazardous  part  of  their  work 
was  done.  The  captain,  on  coming  to  shore,  would 
report  a  man  lost,  drowned,  and  his  body  unre- 
covered.  This  drowned  man,  being  an  unknown, 
no  relative  came  forward  to  claim  wages  from  the 
captain.  How  the  man  met  his  death  was  no  secret 
among  the  dredgers,  and  they  had  to  keep  a  wary 
eye  on  their  own  lives;  for  a  captain  would  often 
move  the  tiller  so  suddenly  as  to  knock  a  man 
overboard,  accidentally,  of  course.  A  board  of  en- 
quiry looked  into  these  things,  and  a  captain  was 
tried  for  murder,  and  escaped  with  a  sentence  of 
seven  years'  imprisonment.  There  were  not  so  many 
accidents  after  this,  but  they  have  not  altogether 
ceased."  After  hearing  this  account,  I  was  not  very 
eager  for  more  practical  knowledge  of  this  profession, 
called  dredging,  so  I  agreed  with  Red  to  make  three 
or  four  more  trips  as  cattlemen,  until  the  spring 
of  the  year  made  other  work  easy  to  be  obtained. 

We  returned  to  the  office,  where  between  thirty 
and  forty  men  were  waiting  an  opportunity  to  ship. 
As  I  have  said  before,  some  of  these  men  were 
notorious  beggars,  and  the  kind-hearted  people  of 
Baltimore  never  seemed  to  tire  of  giving  them  char- 

[102] 


A  Strange  Cattleman 

ity.  One  man,  called  Wee  Scotty,  who  had  been 
a  cattleman  for  a  number  of  years,  begged  the  town 
so  much  in  some  of  the  rather  long  intervals  when 
he  was  waiting  a  ship,  that  he  could  take  a  stranger 
with  him  three  times  a  day  for  a  month,  to  be  fed 
by  the  different  good  people  that  were  known  to 
him.  He  could  take  up  a  position  on  a  street  cor- 
ner, and  say — ''Go  to  that  house  for  breakfast;  come 
back  to  this  house  for  dinner,  and  yonder  house 
with  the  red  gate  will  provide  you  a  good  supper." 
In  this  way  he  kept  me  going  for  two  weeks  when, 
at  last,  I  was  asked  to  sign  articles  to  go  with 
cattle  to  Glasgow. 

Some  days  before  this,  a  man  came  to  the  office, 
whose  peculiar  behaviour  often  drew  my  attention 
to  him.  He  asked  to  be  allowed  to  work  his  passage 
to  England,  and  the  skipper  promised  him  the  first 
opportunity,  and  a  sum  of  ten  shillings  on  landing 
there.  This  was  the  reason  why  some  of  us  had  to 
wait  so  long,  because,  having  made  trips  before, 
more  or  less,  we  required  payment  for  our  experi- 
ence. The  man  referred  to  above,  had  a  white 
clean  complexion,  and  his  face  seemed  never  to  have 
had  use  for  a  razor.  Although  small  of  body,  and 
not  seeming  capable  of  much  manual  labour,  his 
vitality  of  spirits  seemed  overflowing  every  minute 
of  the  day.  He  swaggered  more  than  any  man 
present,  and  was  continually  smoking  cigarettes — • 
which  he  deftly  rolled  with  his  own  delicate  fingers. 

[103] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

In  the  intervals  between  smoking  he  chewed,  squirt- 
ing the  juice  in  defiance  of  all  laws  of  cleanliness. 
It  was  not  unusual  for  him  to  sing  a  song,  and  his 
voice  was  of  surprising  sweetness ;  not  of  great  power, 
but  the  softest  voice  I  have  ever  heard  from  a  man, 
although  his  aim  seemed  to  make  it  appear  rough 
and  loud,  as  though  ashamed  of  its  sweetness.  It 
often  occurred  to  me  that  this  man  was  playing  a 
part,  and  that  all  this  cigarette  smoking,  chewing 
tobacco  and  swaggering,  was  a  mere  sham;  an  af- 
fectation for  a  purpose.  I  could  not,  after  much 
watching,  comprehend.  He  was  free  of  speech,  was 
always  ridiculing  others,  and  swore  like  a  trooper, 
yet  no  man  seemed  inclined  to  take  advantage  of 
him.  Blackey  took  him  under  his  protection,  laugh- 
ing and  inciting  him  to  mischief.  He  was  certainly 
not  backward  in  insulting  and  threatening  Blackey, 
which  made  the  latter  laugh  until  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  The  men  were  spellbound  at  his  vol- 
ubility. He  shook  that  red  rag  of  his,  and  a  con- 
tinuous flow  of  speech  ensued,  and  the  surrounding 
creatures  were  mute,  but  not  at  all  infuriated.  His 
audacity  may  have  slightly  irritated  one  or  two,  but 
no  man  had  the  least  idea  of  inflicting  on  him  cor- 
poral punishment.  I  and  Red  were  called  to  the 
office  to  sign  articles  for  Glasgow,  and,  when  doing 
so,  Blackey  and  this  strange  new  companion  of  his 
were  signing  for  England,  the  two  ships  leaving  for 
their  destination  on  the  same  tide.     We  were  sorry  to 

[104] 


A  Strange  Cattleman 

lose  this  man's  company,  knowing  that  his  tongue 
would  have  gone  far  to  amuse  our  leisure  hours 
aboard. 

We  had  a  very  pleasant  voyage,  and  this  line  of 
boats  gave  us  very  little  cause  to  complain,  either 
of  sleeping  accommodation  or  diet,  the  officers  and 
ship's  crew  also  being  sociable  in  their  dealings  with 
us.  The  same  thing  happened  at  the  end  of  this 
voyage,  and  we  would  have  suffered  the  same  pri- 
vation— had  it  not  been  for  an  accident.  On  the 
fourth  morning  ashore  there  was  not  a  penny  among 
us,  and  the  boat  would  not  sail  for  another  two 
days.  Australian  Red  was  rummaging  his  pockets 
and  piling  before  him  a  large  assortment  of  miscel- 
laneous articles.  "I  wouldn't  care  much,"  said  he, 
"if  I  had  the  paltry  price  I  paid  for  this,"  at  the 
same  time  throwing  on  the  table  a  thick,  heavy,  white 
chain.  Picking  this  up,  for  an  indifferent  exami- 
nation, I  became  interested,  and  enquired  as  to  how 
it  came  into  his  possession.  It  seemed  that  a  poor 
fellow  had  offered  to  sell  Red  the  chain  for  a  penny. 
Red,  seeing  the  man's  condition  of  extreme  want, 
had  given  him  sixpence,  at  the  same  time  refusing 
to  accept  the  chain.  The  poor  fellow  had  then  per- 
sisted that  Red  should  accept  it  as  a  gift.  Red, 
being  now  filled  with  his  own  troubles,  wished  that 
he  could  dispose  of  the  chain  to  the  same  advantage. 
The  chain  was,  without  doubt,  silver,  being  stamped 
on  every  link.     "What !"  cried  Red,  suddenly  roused, 

[105] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

while  the  cattlemen  in  their  deep  interest  moved 
forward,  making  a  circle  several  feet  smaller — 
"What I"  he  cried,  "silver  did  you  say'?  Let  me 
see  it  I"  He  snatched  the  chain  and,  without  look- 
ing at  it,  or  putting  it  in  his  pocket,  rushed  out  of 
the  room  without  another  word.  In  five  minutes 
he  returned,  and  throwing  towards  me  eight  shillings, 
the  value  of  the  chain  in  pawn,  said:  "None  of 
this  for  drink;  keep  a  tight  hand  on  it  for  our  food 
supply  until  the  boat  sails."  He  knew  his  own 
weakness.  On  first  coming  to  shore  I  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  buy  several  books,  to  make  sure  of 
them,  indifferent  whether  we  suffered  hunger  or  no. 
For  this  reason  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  voyage  back, 
and  we  arrived  safely  at  Baltimore,  having  been 
away  a  little  over  five  weeks. 

The  first  man  we  met,  on  entering  the  cattlemen's 
office,  was  Blackey,  who,  having  made  a  shorter 
trip,  had  returned  some  days  previous.  "What  be- 
came of  your  strange  friend,  Blackey?"  I  asked. 
"Did  he  remain  in  England,  or  return  to  America?" 
"Why,  haven't  you  heard  about  it  all?"  asked 
Blackey;  "the  English  papers  were  full  of  the  case." 
"We  have  heard  nothing,"  I  said,  thinking  the  poor 
fellow  had  either  been  kicked  to  death  by  one  of  the 
wild  steers,  or  that  he  had  either  leaped  at  the  waves 
in  a  mad  fit  of  suicide,  or  that  the  waves  had  leaped 
at  him  and  taken  him  off.  "He  worked  side  by 
side  with  me  for  eleven  days,"  said  Blackey,  "and 

[106] 


A  Strange  Cattleman 

by  his  singing,  laughing  and  talking,  he  made  a  play 
of  labour.  Down  in  the  forecastle  at  night  he  sang 
songs  and,  in  spite  of  our  limited  space,  and  the 
rolling  of  the  ship,  he  gave  many  a  dance,  and 
ended  by  falling  into  his  low  bunk  exhausted,  and 
laughing  still.  In  all  my  experience  this  was  the 
first  time  that  I  was  not  eager  to  sight  land,  and 
fill  myself  with  English  ale.  On  the  eleventh  day 
out,  we  were  hoisting  bales  of  hay  for  the  cattle, 
and  he  was  assisting  me  in  the  hold  of  the  vessel. 
I  know  not  whether  we  failed  to  fasten  properly  the 
bales,  or  whether  the  cattlemen  on  deck  blundered 
when  receiving  them,  but  all  at  once  I  heard  a  shout 
of — 'Look  out,  below  I'  and  down  came  a  heavy  bale, 
striking  my  companion  on  the  shoulder.  He  spun 
around  once  or  twice,  and  then  fell  unconscious  into 
my  arms.  The  ship's  doctor  was  at  once  called,  and 
the  poor  fellow  was  taken  aft.  Several  times  a  day 
I  made  enquiries  about  him,  and  heard  that  he  was 
out  of  danger,  but  needed  rest.  I  never  saw  him 
again.  When  we  landed  in  England  he  was  not  to 
be  seen,  and  I  thought,  perhaps,  that  he  was  too  ill 
to  be  removed  without  the  assistance  of  a  vehicle. 
Next  day  I  happened  to  pick  up  a  paper,  in  which 
was  a  full  and  lengthy  account  of  how  a  woman 
had  worked  her  way  as  a  cattleman  from  the  port 
of  Baltimore,  making  mention  of  the  ship's  name. 
My  companion  was  that  woman,  and  I  never  had 
the  least  suspicion,"  continued  Blackey,  "although, 

[107] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

I  will  say,  that  I  always  thought  him  a  queer  man." 
I  had  scarcely  been  in  the  office  a  week,  when  I 
was  offered  a  boat  for  London.  Only  one  two-pound 
man  was  required,  all  the  others,  with  the  exception 
of  one,  who  was  to  receive  fifteen  shillings,  were  ten- 
shilling  men.  Red  had  no  chance  on  this  boat,  and 
I  was  not  sorry,  knowing  how  his  extravagant  hab- 
its would  spoil  the  trip's  enjoyment.  This  was  a 
voyage  of  some  delight,  both  aboard  and  ashore. 
Having  been  in  London  before,  I  knew  what  en- 
joyment could  be  had  with  but  little  expense — of 
museums,  parks,  gardens,  picture  galleries,  etc.  I 
made  friends  with  a  decent  fellow,  who  had  been  a 
schoolmaster,  and,  persuading  him  out  of  Deptford, 
we  procured  lodgings  in  Southwark,  and  from  that 
place  we  paid  our  visits  to  the  different  scenes.  We 
saw  none  of  the  other  cattlemen  until  the  hour  of  sail- 
ing. Many  of  the  poor  fellows  had  lost  their  money 
on  the  first  night  ashore,  and  now  had  strange  ex- 
periences to  relate  of  workhouses,  shelters,  soup- 
kitchens,  and  unsuccessful  begging.  When  we  ar- 
rived at  Baltimore  it  wanted  one  week  to  Christmas 
Day,  and  there  was  not  much  chance  to  ship  again 
for  two  or  three  weeks,  owing  to  the  number  of 
men  waiting. 

As  I  have  said  before,  the  people  of  Baltimore 
are  extremely  kind-hearted,  and  no  man  need  starve 
if  he  has  the  courage  to  express  his  wants.  The 
women  seem  to  be  as  beautiful  as  they  are  good, 

[108] 


A  Strange  Cattleman 

for  I  have  never  seen  finer  women  than  those  of 
Baltimore,  and  a  man  would  not  be  making  the 
worst  of  Hfe  if  he  idled  all  day  in  a  principal  street, 
reading  the  face  of  beauty,  and  studying  the  grace 
of  forms  that  pass  him  by.  But  it  is  of  their  kind- 
ness and  generosity  that  I  would  now  speak.  For 
Christmas  Eve  had  come,  and  Australian  Red,  ac- 
companied by  Blackey,  had  taken  me  on  one  side, 
the  former  beginning  in  this  way:  "Will  you  join 
this  night's  expedition^  What  we  want  you  to  do 
is  to  carry  a  small  bag,  no  more,  and  all  the  begging 
will  be  done  by  us."  I  had  visions  of  the  police 
stopping  me  and  enquiring  the  contents  of  such  a 
strange  burden,  but  being  an  unsuccessful  beggar, 
and  feeling  too  independent  to  have  others  perform 
this  office  for  me,  without  making  some  little  effort 
to  deserve  their  maintenance,  I  agreed  to  their  pro- 
posal, and  that  evening  at  six  p.  m.,  we  sallied  forth 
together.  They  both  started  on  a  long  street.  Red 
taking  one  side  and  Blackey  the  other,  whilst  I 
waited  the  result  some  yards  in  advance — a  safe  dis- 
tance away.  They  could  scarcely  have  been  refused 
in  one  house,  for  in  less  than  ten  minutes  they  were 
both  at  my  side,  dropping  paper  parcels  into  the 
empty  bag,  the  mouth  of  which  I  held  open.  All 
at  once  Blackey  disappeared,  having  been  called  in 
to  supper.  The  same  thing  happened  to  Red,  two 
or  three  minutes  after.  When  they  approached  me 
again  with  other  parcels,  they  both  agreed  to  accept 

[109] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

no  more  invitations  to  supper,  but  that  they  would 
excuse  themselves  as  having  families  at  home.  They 
continued  this  for  half  an  hour,  hardly  more,  when 
the  bag  was  full  to  the  mouth.  "Now,"  said 
Blackey,  "take  this  to  the  office,  and  we  will  remain 
to  fill  our  pockets,  after  which  we  will  follow  as  soon 
as  possible.  Or  do  you  prefer  to  wait  for  US'?"  I 
preferred  to  go,  and,  avoiding  the  main  streets  and 
lighted  places,  succeeded  in  getting  back  without 
rousing  the  curiosity  of  the  police.  They  soon  fol- 
lowed, with  another  supply  stored  in  their  capacious 
pockets.  What  delighted  them  most — but  of  which 
I  took  very  little  account,  knowing  to  what  use  it 
would  be  put — was  that  they  had  received  several 
small  amounts  in  money,  the  total  being  one  dollar 
and  seventy-five  cents.  I  shall  never  forget  this 
begging  expedition.  When  the  different  parcels 
were  unrolled,  we  beheld  everything  that  the  most 
fastidious  taste  could  desire,  for  not  one  parcel,  I 
believe,  consisted  of  simple  bread  and  butter,  much 
less  the  former  by  its  own  common  self.  There 
were  fried  oysters,  turkey,  chicken,  beef,  mutton,  ham 
and  sausages;  Irish  potatoes,  sweet  potatoes  and 
yams;  brown  bread,  white  bread;  pancakes,  tarts, 
pie  and  cake  of  every  description;  bananas,  apples, 
grapes  and  oranges;  winding  up  with  a  quantity  of 
mixed  nuts  and  a  bag  of  sweets.  Such  were  the 
contents  of  over  sixty  parcels,  got  with  such  ease. 
Blackey  had  been  refused  at  three  doors;  and  Red 

[no] 


A  Strange  Cattleman 

had  failed  at  five,  but  had  been  requested  to  call 
back  at  two  of  them,  and  had  not  troubled  to  do  so, 
not  having  properly  located  the  houses. 


[ill] 


CHAPTER  XII 

THIEVES 

COCKNEY  MORE  was  a  cattleman,  hailing 
from  the  port  of  Baltimore.  He  was  a  born 
thief  and,  strange  to  say,  nearly  blind;  but 
without  doubt,  he  was  a  feeler  of  the  first  magnitude. 
If  he  borrowed  a  needle,  and  the  said  article  was 
honestly  returned,  it  behoved  the  lender,  knowing 
the  borrower's  thievish  propensities,  to  carefully  ex- 
amine it  to  see  that  the  eye  had  not  been  abstracted; 
for,  as  Donovan  remarked — "Cockney  More  could 
steal  the  milk  out  of  one's  tea." 

When  I  have  looked  at  Cockney's  long  thin  fingers, 
I  have  often  wondered  whether  he  had  power  to 
disjoint  them  at  will,  letting  them  down  the  legs 
of  his  trousers  to  rummage  the  locality,  while  he 
stood  innocently  talking  to  us  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  That  honour  which  is  supposed  to  exist 
among  thieves,  was  not  known  to  Cockney  More, 
for  he  would  rob  his  best  friend,  and  do  it  in  such  a 
way  that  no  man  could  take  umbrage.  For  instance, 
six  of  us  had  landed  in  Liverpool,  having  been  paid 
off  that  morning.  Cockney,  knowing  the  ins  and 
outs  of  that  city,  and  its  numerous  pitfalls  for 
strangers,  escorted  us  at  once  to  a  cheap  lodging- 

[112] 


Thieves 

house,  where  we  paid  in  advance  for  a  week's  bed, 
thus  being  assured  of  shelter  until  the  ship  was 
ready  to  return.  The  next  morning  we  sat  six  dis- 
consolate men  in  the  lodging-house  kitchen,  not  one 
of  us  having  the  price  of  his  breakfast.  Cockney, 
being  the  last  to  rise,  entered  at  last,  and  noting 
our  despondent  looks  enquired  as  to  the  cause.  On 
being  told  he  went  out  and  returned  in  a  few  mo- 
ments with  tea,  sugar,  bread  and  sausages.  In  fact, 
he  continued  these  kind  deeds  during  our  week  ashore. 
The  others,  being  mostly  strangers,  blessed  him  for 
a  good  fellow,  but  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  was 
simply  returning  us  our  own,  for  he  spent  three  times 
more  money  during  those  few  days  than  he  had  re- 
ceived for  the  trip. 

I  remembered  a  mean  little  trick  that  he  had 
performed  on  one  of  the  cattlemen  that  very  first 
morning  ashore.  True,  we  were  all  getting  drunk 
fast,  but  I  never  thought  Cockney  would  be  daring 
enough  to  attempt  such  a  deed  in  our  first  stage  of 
intoxication.  He  had  asked  this  cattleman  for  a 
chew  of  tobacco  and  the  man  had  generously  offered 
him  the  whole  plug  to  help  himself.  Cockney  took 
this  plug  and,  biting  off  a  piece,  returned  the  bitten 
part  to  the  owner,  and  himself  pocketed  the  plug. 
I  was  speechless  with  astonishment  at  seeing  this: 
and  more  so  when  the  strange  cattleman  innocently 
received  the  bitten  part,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket 
without  having  perceived  anything  wrong. 

[113] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Cockney  and  myself  were  on  the  best  of  terms,  and 
yet,  some  time  previous  to  the  above  episode,  he  had 
served  me  a  trick  which  ought  to  have  severed  our 
friendship  for  ever.  I  was  at  the  shipping  office  and 
had  that  morning  signed  for  a  trip  to  London. 
"Have  you  sufficient  tobacco,  and  a  spoon,  knife,  fork 
and  plate*?"  enquired  Cockney.  "Yes,"  I  replied, 
"and  I  have  also  a  new  pack  of  cards,  so  that  we 
may  enjoy  our  leisure  hours  aboard."  Cockney  was 
pleased  to  hear  this,  although  he  was  not  to  accom- 
pany me  on  this  trip.  "Let  me  see  them,"  said 
he.  This  I  did  and  being,  as  I  have  said,  nearly 
blind,  he  took  them  to  the  window  for  examination, 
but  returned  them  almost  immediately.  Then  came 
a  shout  for  all  men  who  had  signed  for  the  London 
trip,  and,  hastily  wishing  Cockney  and  others  good- 
bye, I  left  the  office.  On  the  second  day  out  we  were 
all  at  leisure  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  enquiries 
went  around  as  to  who  had  a  pack  of  cards.  My 
cards  were  at  once  produced  and,  taking  partners, 
we  were  about  to  settle  to  a  little  enjoyment.  Alas, 
when  my  cards  were  taken  out  of  the  new  case,  they 
were  found  to  be  a  dirty,  greasy  old  pack  with  sev- 
eral missing,  and,  of  course,  card  playing  was  out 
of  the  question.  I  at  once  knew  what  had  happened : 
Cockney  had  substituted  these  old  ones  for  the  new, 
what  time  he  pretended  to  be  interested  at  the  win- 
dow.    That  little  trick  meant  twelve  days'  misery 

[U4] 


Thieves 

for  eight  men,  for  we  could  not  get  another  pack 
until  we  landed  in  London. 

On  that  trip,  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of  Cockney's 
company,  we  had  with  us  Donovan  who,  as  a  thief, 
certainly  ran  Cockney  a  good  second.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  is  that  all  cattlemen  are  thieves,  and 
the  one  who  complains  of  going  ashore  without  his 
razor,  often  has  in  his  possession  another's  knife, 
comb  or  soap.  On  the  second  day  out  I  missed  my 
pocket-knife  and,  without  loss  of  time  boldly  accused 
Cockney  More  to  his  face,  telling  him  that  however 
much  I  admired  his  dexterity  in  other  people's  pock- 
ets I  had  not  the  least  suspicion  that  he  would  be 
guilty  of  such  a  trick  on  an  old  pal.  "No  more 
have  I,"  said  he.  "What  kind  of  knife  was  it*?" 
On  being  told,  he  advised  me  to  say  no  more  about 
it,  and  that  he  would  endeavour  to  find  it.  He 
succeeded  in  doing  so,  and  the  next  day  Donovan 
was  shouting  indignantly — "Who  has  been  to  my 
bunk  and  stolen  a  knife  *?"  After  this  I  lost  my 
soap,  but  did  not  think  it  worth  while  mentioning 
such  a  petty  loss.  On  approaching  Cockney  More 
for  the  loan  of  his,  he — giving  me  strict  injunctions 
to  return  it  at  once,  and  not  leave  it  exposed  to  the 
eyes  of  thieves — lent  me  my  own  soap. 

This  trip  was  a  memorable  one,  and  no  doubt 
Cockney  made  the  best  haul  of  his  life.  We  were 
together  in  Liverpool,  Cockney,  Donovan  and  my- 

[i>5] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

self,  and  as  usual  drinking.  A  stranger,  hearing 
by  our  conversation  that  we  hailed  from  America, 
invited  us  to  drink;  and  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion expressed  a  regret  that  he  was  out  of  work,  and 
had  no  means  of  visiting  America.  ^'Nothing  is 
easier,"  said  Cockney,  "if  you  place  yourself  unre- 
servedly in  our  hands.  We  are  to  sail  on  Thurs- 
day, and  I  can  stow  you  away,  as  I  have  success- 
fully done  with  others."  "Many  thanks,"  replied 
the  other,  and  so  it  was  agreed. 

On  the  following  Thursday  we  went  aboard,  the 
Cockney  carrying  a  large  bag  which  contained  the 
stowaway's  clothes,  etc.  When  the  ship's  officers 
entered  our  forecastle  the  stowaway  was,  of  course, 
not  present,  but  when  they  were  searching  other 
places,  the  stowaway  was  then  sitting  comfortably 
among  us,  these  things  being  well  managed  by  Cock- 
ney More.  After  this  search  they  would  pay  us 
no  more  visits,  and  the  stowaway  was  safe,  and 
could  go  on  deck  at  night  for  fresh  air.  The  only 
danger  now  was  to  land  him  in  America.  This,  the 
Cockney  affirmed,  was  a  danger  of  little  account. 

Now,  as  I  have  said,  this  stowaway  had  a  bag, 
and  Cockney  More  and  Donovan  were  great  thieves. 
Therefore,  it  was  not  at  all  surprising  to  hear  that 
the  poor  fellow  was  soon  without  a  second  shirt  to 
his  back.  He  had  lent  me  a  book,  the  value  of 
which  I  did  not  think  him  capable  of  appreciating, 
and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  it  should  not  be 

[116] 


Thieves 

returned  until  asked  for.  But  when  I  heard  him 
complain  of  losing  so  many  things,  through  pity  I 
became  honest  and  returned  it.  But  where  was  his 
watch  and  chain,  his  brushes,  and  where  were  his 
clothes,  his  tools,  razor,  strop,  and  many  other  use- 
ful articles?  All  these  things  were  in  possession  of 
Donovan,  and  Cockney  knew  it  and  appeared  to  be 
grieving  over  lost  chances;  for  he  was  supposed  to 
have  that  honour  which  is  among  thieves,  and  as 
Donovan  had  been  too  fast  for  him,  he  had  no  other 
option  than  to  sit  quiet  under  the  circumstances. 

On  the  day  before  our  arrival  at  Baltimore,  I 
happened  to  enter  the  forecastle  and  found  Donovan, 
his  face  pale,  feverously  rummaging  Cockney  More's 
bunk,,  "What  do  you  think?"  said  he.  "That 
blasted  Cockney  has  robbed  me  of  everything." 
And  so  he  had.  He  had  allowed  Donovan  to  do  all 
the  dirty  work,  of  abstracting  the  goods  one  by  one, 
as  the  chance  occurred;  he  had  allowed  him  the 
pleasure  of  their  care  and  possession  for  many  days, 
and  then  he  had  robbed  him.  But  the  artful  part 
of  the  business  was  this:  he  had  not  left  Donovan 
any  chance  to  recover  the  goods,  for  he  had  made 
friends  with  one  of  the  sailors — the  latter  having 
a  forecastle  to  themselves — and  had  prevailed  on 
that  person  to  take  charge  of  a  parcel  for  him  until 
all  the  cattlemen  landed;  "for,"  said  he,  "these 
cattlemen  are  born  thieves."  Yes,  he  had  done  the 
business  neatly,   for   the   desperate   and  much   ag- 

[117] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

grieved  Donovan  who  intended  on  landing  to  re- 
cover the  goods  by  force,  saw  Cockney  More  walk 
ashore  as  empty-handed  as  himself,  and  he  was  al- 
most shaken  in  his  belief  that  the  said  Cockney  was, 
after  all,  the  thief  triumphant. 


[uS] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    CANAL 

I  NOW  left  Baltimore,  travelling  alone,  making 
my  way  as  fast  as  possible  towards  Chicago, 
where  a  canal  was  being  built  to  facilitate 
commerce  between  that  large  inland  city,  and  deep 
water,  at  which  place  I  soon  arrived. 

On  the  banks  of  that  canal  were  assembled  the 
riff-raff  of  America  and  the  scum  of  Europe;  men 
who  wanted  no  steady  employment,  but  to  make 
easy  and  quick  stakes — for  the  pay  was  good — so 
as  to  indulge  in  periodical  sprees,  or  in  rare  instances, 
for  the  more  laudable  purpose  of  placing  themselves 
in  a  better  position  to  apply  for  more  respectable 
employment.  They  came  and  went  in  gangs,  for 
the  work  was  so  hard  that  there  were  few  men  that 
did  not  require  a  week's  rest  after  a  month's  labour. 
So  much  for  the  rough  but  honest  working  element. 
But  unfortunately  these  canal  banks  were  infested 
by  other  gangs,  who  did  not  seek  work,  and  yet 
were  often  to  be  seen  loafing  about  the  various 
camps.  Then  how  did  these  men  live*?  For  they 
could  not  successfully  beg,  seeing  that  work  was  to 
be  had  for  the   asking.     Perhaps  the  explanation 

[119] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

is  that  seldom  a  day  passed  but  what  a  dead  body- 
was  dragged  out  of  the  water,  and  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  these  bodies  bore  the  marks  of  murder. 
The  bodies  were  not  those  of  men  coming  from  the 
city  in  search  of  employment,  but  of  such  men  as 
had  been  known  to  have  quit  work  a  few  days  pre- 
vious, having  then  had  a  month's  or  more  pay  on 
their  persons,  and  who  had  been  on  the  way  to  the 
city  for  enjoyment.  Yes,  these  loafers  were  un- 
doubtedly the  thugs  and  murderers,  and  if  a  man 
was  inclined  to  hazard  his  life,  all  he  had  to  do 
was  to  make  it  known  that  he  on  the  following  day 
was  to  draw  his  earnings,  with  the  intention  of 
walking  the  canal  banks  to  one  of  the  distant  towns. 
It  was  hardly  likely  that  he  would  reach  his  destina- 
tion, but  would  be  taken  out  of  the  canal  some  days 
later — a  murdered  man.  To  defeat  the  purpose  of 
these  unscrupulous  life-takers,  the  more  timid  work- 
men waited  for  one  another  until  they  were  suffi- 
ciently strong  in  number  to  discharge  themselves 
and  travel  without  fear.  But  alas!  there  was 
many  a  man  who  prided  himself  on  his  own  heart 
and  muscles  for  protection  and  dared  the  journey 
alone.  At  the  time  of  which  I  write  there  had  been 
no  houses  built  on  those  banks,  therefore  no  women 
walked  to  and  fro,  and  no  children  played  there. 
No  doubt  such  are  to  be  seen  there  at  the  present 
day,  innocent  of  the  violence  and  the  blood  that  was 
shed  there  in  the  past. 

[120] 


The  Canal 

I  had  applied  for  work  at  one  of  these  camps  and 
being  sickened  of  the  same  in  a  little  more  than 
three  weeks  demanded  my  earnings  at  the  same 
time  Cockney  Tom  and  Pat  Sheeny  drew  theirs, 
with  the  intention  of  accompanying  them  to  Chicago. 
Being  somewhat  delayed  in  business,  owing  to  the 
absence  of  the  timekeeper,  and  being  then  com- 
pelled to  remain  for  dinner,  we  soon  saw  the  im- 
possibility of  reaching  the  city  before  midnight. 
Therefore  it  was  arranged  between  us  that  we  should 
settle  for  the  night  at  some  place  half  way  between 
the  camp  and  the  city,  and  rise  early  so  as  to  enter 
the  latter  before  noon  on  the  following  day.  With 
this  intention  we  started,  after  receiving  dinner  and 
pay,  and  after  several  hours'  walk  settled  down. 

There  would  be  six  hours'  darkness  and  it  was 
proposed  that  I  should  keep  awake  for  the  first 
two  hours'  watch,  after  which  Cockney  Tom  would 
relieve  me,  and  Pat  would  then  keep  watch  until 
daybreak. 

Now,  in  my  two  hours'  watch  I  had  on  several 
occasions  heard  a  stir  in  the  adjoining  bush,  but 
not  being  able  to  see  whether  it  was  a  man  or  a  beast, 
I  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  alarm  my  com- 
panions. At  last  I  considered  my  duty  to  be  at  an 
end,  and,  after  rousing  Cockney  Tom,  settled  myself 
for  sleep.  Before  I  closed  my  eyes  I  noticed  that 
the  second  watch  was  still  lying  recumbent,  although 
he  seemed  to  be  wide  awake;  but  I  was  too  intent 

[121] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

on  my  own  sleep  to  care  whether  he  would  be  faithful 
to  his  trust  or  not.  I  don't  think  I  could  have  been 
asleep  more  than  fifteen  minutes  when  I  was  startled 
by  a  loud  shout  and,  springing  to  my  feet  was  just 
in  time  to  see  Cockney  Tom  in  pursuit  of  one  who 
was  then  entering  the  bush.  The  Irishman  was  also 
up,  and  we  both  followed  the  chase.  We  soon 
reached  our  companion,  finding  him  standing  dazed 
and  confused  as  to  which  way  the  quarry  had  gone. 
He  explained  to  us  that  when  on  watch  he  was  lying 
down  with  his  eyes  closed,  but  with  his  ears  wide 
open,  and  all  his  mental  faculties  at  work.  Sud- 
denly, he  heard  a  step  near  and  opening  his  eyes 
saw  a  stranger  standing  within  three  feet  of  him. 
It  was  at  that  moment  that  he  gave  the  alarm, 
but  the  stranger  was  too  fleet  to  be  overtaken.  "No 
doubt,"  said  Cockney,  "there  is  a  gang  of  them  at 
no  short  distance  from  here  and  if  we  are  wise,  we 
will  continue  our  journey  at  once.  I  have  seen  the 
man's  face  before,  at  the  camp,  and  know  I  shall 
recognise  him  if  we  meet  again."  His  advice  of 
continuing  our  journey  was  hardly  necessary,  for 
sleep  was  now  out  of  the  question. 

In  less  than  a  week  after  the  above  incident  we 
three,  having  squandered  our  earnings  in  Chicago, 
were  back  at  the  old  camp  seeking  re-employment. 
There  happened  to  be  only  one  vacancy,  which  the 
Irishman  persuaded  Cockney  to  accept,  whilst  we 
two  would  travel  on  to  the  next  camp,  a  distance  of 

[122] 


The  Canal 

two  miles.  We  were  about  to  do  this  when  the  boss 
ganger  asked  me  if  I  would  like  a  position  in  the 
boarding  shanty  as  assistant  cook.  Knowing  that 
an  assistant  cook  meant  no  more  than  carrying  water, 
peeling  potatoes,  washing  dishes,  keeping  a  good  fire 
and  opening  cans  of  condensed  meat  and  preserves 
— I  felt  quite  confident  in  undertaking  such  a  po- 
sition. So  the  Cockney  and  I  started  to  work  at 
once,  but  before  doing  so,  arranged  for  the  keep  of 
Pat  until  a  vacancy  occurred,  his  meals  to  be  en- 
tered to  our  account.  The  next  morning  his  chance 
came  and  he  was  set  to  work. 

We  had  been  working  four  days,  and  on  the  even- 
ing of  that  fourth  day  we  three  and  a  number  of 
others  were  resting  ourselves  in  a  quiet  place  near 
the  camp.  Whilst  seated  there,  smoking  and  talk- 
ing, there  came  along  four  strangers,  who  seated 
themselves  some  distance  from  us,  but  within  ear- 
shot of  our  conversation.  No  one  paid  much  heed 
to  them,  for  it  was  not  unusual  to  be  visited  by 
strangers  in  quest  of  work.  But  there  was  one  man 
who  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  them,  and  that 
was  Cockney  Tom.  "Yes,"  he  said  to  me  after  sev- 
eral long  puffs  at  his  pipe,  "that  stranger,  showing 
us  his  side  face,  is  the  very  man  who  attempted 
to  rob  us."  Saying  this  the  Cockney  took  otf  his 
cap  and  laying  it  carefully  on  the  ground  with  its 
inside  uppermost,  placed  therein  his  dirty  clay  pipe, 
as  gently  as  a  woman  putting  a  sleeping  babe  in  its 

[123] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

cradle — and  to  the  no  small  surprise  of  his  com- 
panions began  to  address  them  in  this  oratorical  fash- 
ion: "Gentlemen,  some  time  ago  a  man  attempted 
to  rob  me  and  two  others,  and  ever  since  then  I 
have  been  longing  to  meet  him  face  to  face.  At 
last  we  meet,  and  I  would  like  to  know  what  is  to 
be  done  with  him."  "Why,  give  him  a  good  hiding, 
of  course,"  cried  several  angry  voices.  On  hearing 
this  the  Cockney  at  once  turned  towards  the  strangers 
— whom  he  had  hitherto  pretended  not  to  notice — 
and  in  three  bounds  was  standing  over  them.  Plac- 
ing his  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  one  he  said  in  a  calm 
voice,  "This  is  my  man."  The  man  referred  to  rose 
deliberately  to  his  feet,  as  though  he  had  expected 
this,  and  his  companions  did  likewise.  "Well," 
said  he,  "what  is  the  trouble*?"  "You  know  quite 
well,"  replied  the  Cockney,  "so  you  may  as  well 
strip  without  further  question."  Whatever  the 
stranger  was,  he  certainly  was  no  coward,  for  his 
coat  and  waistcoat  were  soon  in  the  hands  of  his 
companion.  The  Cockney  lost  no  time,  and  the  next 
minute  they  stood  squaring  before  each  other  in  such 
a  scientific  way  as  promised  the  onlookers  a  most  in- 
teresting exhibition.  Although  the  stranger  was  the 
taller  of  the  two,  the  Cockney  seemed  to  possess  the 
longer  reach.  Round  after  round  they  fought,  and 
in  spite  of  their  heavy  and  muddy  boots  the  footwork 
was  neat,  and  the  dodging  of  their  heads,  and  the 
feinting  of  their  arms  made  the  more  gentle  onlookers 

[124] 


The  Canal 

overlook  the  drawing  of  blood.  There  was  no 
wrestling,  or  mauling  on  the  ground,  and  there  was 
no  attempt  at  foul  blows,  for  each  of  the  principals 
seemed  to  value  the  favour  of  that  most  apprecia- 
tive assembly.  It  looked  more  like  a  friendly  ex- 
hibition than  two  men  attempting  to  take  life.  The 
spectators  laughed  approval  and  buzzed  with  admir- 
ation until  even  the  bleeding  men,  hearing  this, 
chaffed  one  another,  and  smiled  at  each  other  grimly 
with  their  battered  faces.  Yes,  it  seemed  friendly 
enough  until  the  tenth  round  when  the  Cockney,  who 
the  round  previous  seemed  to  show  signs  of  weari- 
ness, called  to  his  assistance  some  latent  force  which 
set  his  arms  to  work  like  a  pair  of  axes  on  a  tree, 
and  down  his  opponent  fell,  and  the  battle  was  lost 
and  won.  The  stranger  was  borne  away  by  his  com- 
panions, and  Cockney  Tom  returned  to  the  camp  to 
dress  his  injuries,  which  did  not  prevent  him  from 
work  on  the  following  day.  The  Cockney  was  well 
pleased  with  this  exploit,  and  if  his  opponent  was 
one  of  those  thugs  and  murderers,  who  had  taken  an 
active  part  in  perhaps  fifty  or  sixty  murders,  he  would 
certainly  be  lucky  if  he  never  met  with  severer  pun- 
ishment. 


[>25] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    HOUSE-BOAT 

1  WORKED  long  enough  on  this  canal  to  save 
fifty  dollars,  and  then  quit,  feeling  the  old 
restlessness  return,  which  had  unsettled  me  for 
some  time.  With  this  comfortable  sum  in  my  pos- 
session I  kept  beating  my  way  west  until  I  arrived 
at  St.  Louis,  a  large  city  on  the  Mississippi,  having 
up  till  now  lived  frugally,  and  spent  nothing  on 
travelling.  This  kind  of  life  was  often  irksome  to 
me,  when  I  have  camped  all  night  alone  in  the 
woods,  beside  a  fire,  when  one  good  sociable  com- 
panion might  have  turned  the  life  into  an  ideal  one. 
Often  have  I  waked  in  the  night,  or  early  morning, 
to  find  spaces  opposite  occupied  by  one  or  two  stran- 
gers, who  had  seen  the  fire  in  the  distance,  and  had 
been  guided  to  me  by  its  light.  One  night,  in  In- 
diana, when  it  had  rained  heavily  throughout  the 
day,  I  had  made  my  fire  and  camped  under  a  thick 
leaved  tree,  where  the  ground  was  dryer  than  in 
the  open.  Sometime  about  midnight,  I  felt  myself 
roughly  shaken,  at  the  same  time  a  sudden  shower 
fell  that  pinned  me  breathless  to  the  earth.  I  looked 
here  and  there,  but  could  see  no  one.     Then  I  left 

[126] 


The  House-Boat 

the  shelter  of  the  tree  and  saw  to  my  surprise,  that 
the  night  was  fine,  and  that  the  stars  were  thick 
and  shining.  As  I  replenished  the  fire  with  wood, 
of  which  I  always  gathered  in  an  abundance  before 
darkness  came,  it  puzzled  me  much  to  account  for 
this.  Although  I  thought  the  shaking  must  have 
been  a  dream,  my  wet  clothes  were  a  sufficient  proof 
of  the  rain's  reality.  Every  man  I  met  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  enquired  where  I  had  lodged  during 
the  earthquake  shock  on  the  previous  night,  and 
that  question  explained  everything.  The  earth  had 
shaken  me,  and  the  leaves  of  the  tree,  which  had  been 
gathering  all  day,  the  rain  drops  had  in  one  moment 
relinquished  them  all  upon  my  sleeping  form. 

On  reaching  St.  Louis  I  still  had  something  like 
forty  dollars,  and  being  tired  of  my  own  thoughts, 
which  continually  upbraided  me  for  wasted  time, 
resolved  to  seek  some  congenial  fellowship,  so  that 
in  listening  to  other  men's  thoughts  I  might  be  ren- 
dered deaf  to  my  own.  I  had  bought  a  daily  paper, 
and  had  gone  to  the  levee,  so  that  I  might  spend 
a  few  hours  out  of  the  sun,  reading,  and  watching 
the  traffic  on  the  river.  Seeing  before  me  a  large 
pile  of  lumber,  I  hastened  towards  it,  that  I  might 
enjoy  its  shady  side.  When  I  arrived  I  saw  that 
the  place  was  already  occupied  by  two  strangers, 
one  being  a  man  of  middle  age,  and  the  other  a 
youth  of  gentlemanly  appearance.  Seating  myself, 
I  began  to  read,  but  soon  had  my  attention  drawn  to 

[127] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

their  conversation.  The  young  fellow,  wanting  to 
go  home,  and  being  in  no  great  hurry,  proposed  buy- 
ing a  house-boat  and  floating  leisurely  down  the 
Mississippi  to  New  Orleans,  from  which  place  he 
would  then  take  train  to  Southern  Texas,  where 
his  home  was.  "We  will  go  ashore,"  he  said,  "and 
see  the  different  towns,  and  take  in  fresh  provisions 
as  they  are  needed."  The  elder  of  the  two,  who  had 
a  strong  Scotch  accent,  allowed  a  little  enthusiasm 
to  ooze  out  of  his  dry  temperament,  and  agreed 
without  much  comment.  "Excuse  me,  gentlemen," 
I  said,  "I  could  not  help  but  hear  your  conversation 
and,  if  you  have  no  objection,  would  like  to  share 
expenses  and  enjoy  your  company  on  such  a  trip." 
The  Texan,  being  young  and  impetuous,  without 
the  least  suspicion  of  strangers,  jumped  to  his  feet, 
exulting  at  the  social  project.  Scotty,  more  calm, 
but  with  a  shrewd  eye  to  the  financial  side  of  the 
question,  said  that  he  thought  the  trip  would  cer- 
tainly be  enjoyed  better  by  three,  and  that  the  ex- 
pense would  not  be  near  so  great  per  head.  We  had 
no  difficulty  in  purchasing  a  house-boat.  Hundreds 
of  these  are  moored  to  the  banks,  lived  in  by 
fishermen  and  their  wives,  and  others  in  various  ways 
employed  on  the  river.  But,  of  course,  the  one  we 
required  was  to  be  much  smaller  than  these.  We 
found  one,  at  last,  rather  battered,  and  ill-condi- 
tioned, for  which  we  were  asked  eleven  dollars. 
Scotty,  to  our  unfeigned  disgust,  acted  the  Jew  in 

[>28] 


The  House-Boat 

this  matter  of  trade,  and  had  succeeded  in  beating 
the  price  down  to  nine  dollars  and  a  half  when  we 
to  his  annoyance  offered  to  pay  that  sum  without 
more  ado.  But  Scotty,  although  mean  in  these  bus- 
iness matters,  was  strictly  honest  and  just  in  paying 
an  equal  share;  for,  after  I  had  paid  the  odd  half 
a  dollar,  he  did  not  forget  that  amount  when  we 
came  to  stocking  the  boat  with  provisions.  We  lost 
no  time  in  getting  these,  and  then  went  ashore  for 
the  evening's  enjoyment  and  the  night's  sleep,  in- 
tending to  start  early  the  next  morning.  And  with 
these  prospects  before  us,  a  very  pleasant  evening 
we  had. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  following  morning,  we  weighed 
anchor — our  anchor  being  a  large  stone — and  drifted 
into  the  current,  the  young  Texan  using  an  oar  as 
a  tiller.  And  what  a  strange  vo3^age  we  had,  fraught 
with  more  danger  than  many  would  dream.  This 
Mississippi  river  often  had  only  a  few  yards  for 
navigation  purposes,  even  when  the  distance  from 
bank  to  bank  was  between  two  and  three  miles. 
Sometimes  we  were  in  the  middle  of  this  broad  river, 
and  yet  were  in  extreme  danger  of  floundering,  for 
we  could  touch  the  bottom  with  a  short  stick.  Yes, 
we  were  in  danger  of  floundering,  and  yet  our  ship 
drew  less  than  six  inches  of  water!  Trees,  whose 
branches  were  firmly  embedded  in  the  mud,  had  their 
roots  bobbing  up  and  down,  bobbing  up  unawares, 
and  v.'e  were  often  in  danger  of  being  impaled  on 

[129] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

one  of  these  ere  we  could  steer  clear  of  it.  Some- 
times we  would  see  villages  and  small  towns  that 
in  the  remote  past  had  been  built  flush  on  the  banks 
of  this  river :  now  they  were  lying  quiet  and  neglected 
a  mile  or  more  away,  owing  to  the  river's  determi- 
nation to  take  his  own  course.  Hundreds  of  lives 
had  been  sacrificed,  dying  of  swamp  fever,  in  build- 
ing levees  and  high  banks  to  prevent  this,  and  mil- 
lions of  dollars  utilised  for  the  same  purpose — ^but 
the  Father  of  Waters  has  hitherto  had  his  own  will, 
and  can  be  expected  to  be  seen  at  any  place,  and 
at  any  time. 

Towards  evening  we  would  put  ashore  on  a  sand 
bar,  making  a  fire  with  the  driftwood,  of  which  there 
was  an  abundance.  Here  we  cooked  supper,  slept 
and  enjoyed  breakfast  the  next  morning.  There 
was  no  other  water  to  be  had  than  that  of  the  river, 
which  the  natives  of  the  south  claim  to  be  healthy. 
We  had  no  objection  to  using  it  for  cooking  and 
washing,  but  it  was  certainly  too  thick  for  drinking 
cold — or  rather  lukewarm,  for  it  was  never  cold  in 
the  summer  months.  We  would  fill  a  large  can 
and  let  the  water  settle  for  twenty  or  thirty  minutes, 
and,  after  taking  great  care  in  drinking,  a  sediment 
of  mud  would  be  left  at  the  bottom  a  quarter  or 
three-eighths  of  an  inch  deep. 

We  put  ashore  at  one  place  where  a  number  of 
negroes  and  white  men  had  assembled  in  expecta- 
tion of  work,   when  man   again  proposed  putting 

[130] 


The  House-Boat 

forth  his  puny  strength  against  the  Mississippi, 
where  we  decided  to  wait  a  day  or  two  and  take 
our  chance  of  being  employed.  Unfortunately  the 
ill  feeling  which  invariably  exists  between  these  two 
colours  came  to  a  climax  on  the  first  day  of  our 
3^  >al.  The  negroes,  insulting  and  arrogant, 
through  their  superiority  of  numbers,  became  at  last 
unbearable.  On  which  the  white  men,  having  that 
truer  courage  that  scorned  to  count  their  own 
strength,  assembled  together,  and  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' consultation,  resolved  to  take  advantage  of 
the  first  provocation.  This  came  sooner  than  was 
expected.  A  negro,  affecting  to  be  intoxicated,  stag- 
gered against  a  white  man,  and  was  promptly 
knocked  down  for  his  trouble.  The  negroes,  whose 
favourite  weapon  is  the  razor,  produced  these  useful 
blades  from  different  parts  of  concealment,  stood 
irresolute,  waiting  for  a  leader,  and  then  came  for- 
ward in  a  body,  led  by  a  big  swaggerer  in  bare  feet, 
whose  apparel  consisted  of  a  red  shirt  and  a  pair  of 
patched  trousers  held  up  by  a  single  brace.  These 
white  men,  who  were  so  far  outnumbered,  said  little, 
but  the  negroes  were  loud  in  their  abuse.  This 
soon  led  to  blows  and  in  the  ensuing  fight,  knives, 
razors  and  fists  were  freely  used.  Only  one  shot 
was  fired,  and  that  one  told.  When  the  negroes, 
whose  courage  had  failed  at  such  a  determined  re- 
sistance, were  in  full  flight,  the  tall  swaggerer  was 
left  behind  with  a  bullet  in  his  heart.     Several  men 

[13'] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

were  wounded,  with  gashes  on  necks,  arms,  and  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  body.  Small  fights  continued 
throughout  the  day,  but  it  was  left  for  the  night 
to  produce  a  deed  of  foul  murder.  A  white  man 
was  found  next  morning  with  his  body  covered  with 
blood  from  thirty-nine  wounds.  Half  a  dozen 
razors  must  have  set  to  work  on  him  in  the  dark. 
The  razor  is  a  sly,  ugly-looking  weapon,  but  is  far 
less  dangerous  than  a  knife,  a  poker,  or  even  a  short 
heavy  piece  of  wood;  and  as  it  cannot  pierce  to  the 
heart  or  brain,  that  is  why  this  man  took  so  long 
in  the  killing.  This  deed  roused  the  sheriff  and  his 
marshal,  and  they  followed  the  black  murderers  to 
the  adjoining  state,  but  returned  next  day  without 
them. 

We  embarked  again,  but  owing  to  the  young 
Texan  being  taken  sick  with  malarial  fever,  resolved 
to  put  ashore  for  medicine  at  the  first  large  town. 
This  malarial  fever  is  very  prevalent  in  these  parts, 
especially  this  state  of  Arkansas,  which  is  three  parts 
a  swamp.  He  suffered  so  much  that  we  decided 
to  call  on  the  first  house-boat  seen,  and  ask  assistance 
of  the  fishermen,  and  soon  we  had  an  opportunity 
of  doing  so.  Seeing  a  large  house-boat  moored  at 
the  mouth  of  a  small  creek,  we  put  the  tiller — 
which  as  I  have  said,  was  an  oar — to  its  proper 
work,  and  sculled  towards  the  shore.  We  ran  to 
land  within  ten  yards  of  the  other  boat,  and  the 
fisherman,  who  had  seen  us  coming,  stood  waiting 

[132] 


The  House-Boat 

on  the  sands  to  know  our  wants.  He  was  a  typical 
swamp  man,  with  a  dark  sickly  complexion,  thin- 
faced  and  dry-skinned  and,  though  he  was  nearly 
six  feet  in  height,  his  weight,  I  believe,  could  not 
have  exceeded  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds. 
His  left  cheek  was  considerably  swollen,  which  I 
thought  must  be  due  to  neuralgia  until  the  swelling 
began  to  disappear  from  that  side;  and,  after 
witnessing  for  a  few  seconds  a  frightful,  even  pain- 
ful contortion  of  the  face,  I  saw  the  right  cheek  come 
into  possession  of  the  same  beautiful  round  curve, 
leaving  the  left  cheek  as  its  fellow  had  been.  It 
was  now  apparent  that  the  one  object  of  this  man's 
life  was  to  chew  tobacco.  To  him  we  related  our 
troubles,  asking  his  advice,  and  for  a  little  temporary 
assistance,  for  which  he  would  be  paid.  Up  to  the 
present  time  he  had  not  opened  his  lips,  except  a 
right  or  left  corner  to  squirt  tobacco  juice,  send- 
ing an  equal  share  to  the  north  and  south.  "I  guess 
there's  some  quinine  in  the  shanty  boat,"  he  said, 
after  a  long  silence,  "which  I  reckon  will  relieve 
him  considerably,  but  he  ought  ter  go  home  ter  th' 
women  folk,  that's  straight."  He  led  the  way  to 
his  boat,  and  we  followed.  We  soon  had  the  young 
Texan  in  comfort,  and  Scotty  and  myself  returned 
to  transfer  some  provisions  to  the  fisherman's  house- 
boat, for  the  evening's  use.  While  doing  so,  we 
decided  to  sell  our  own  boat,  at  any  price,  when  we 
would  walk  to  the  nearest  railroad,  and  send  the 

[133] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

young  fellow  home;  after  which  we  would  seek  some 
employment  and  settle  down.  We  cooked  supper, 
and  then  slept  in  the  open  air,  beside  a  large  fire, 
leaving  our  sick  friend  comfortable  in  the  boat. 

The  next  morning  we  offered  our  house-boat  for 
sale  for  six  dollars,  with  all  its  belongings.  The 
fisherman  explained  to  us  that  he  not  only  had  no 
money,  but  rarely  had  use  for  it.  Everything  he 
needed  he  paid  for  in  fish,  and  often  went  months  at 
a  time  without  a  glimpse  of  money  of  any  descrip- 
tion. To  my  surprise  the  one  thing  that  did  seem  to 
claim  his  attention,  for  which  he  could  not  help  but 
display  some  greed,  was  the  large  stone  which  we 
had  brought  with  us  from  St.  Louis,  and  which  we 
had  used  for  anchor  This  stone  certainly  had  no 
vein  of  gold  or  silver  in  it,  it  was  not  granite  or 
marble,  and  could  boast  of  no  beauty,  being  a  very 
ordinary  looking  stone  indeed,  but  it  seemed  to  have 
a  strange  fascination  for  this  man.  The  fisherman 
had  no  money,  and  had  nothing  to  barter  which 
might  be  of  use  to  us,  so  we  made  him  a  present 
of  the  whole  lot,  and  left  him  sitting  on  the  stone, 
watching  our  departure.  "He  seemed  very  eager 
to  possess  that  stone,"  I  remarked  to  Scotty,  as  we 
followed  a  trail  through  a  thicket,  so  that  we  might 
reach  the  high-road.  "Yes,"  said  Scotty,  "for  in 
this  part  of  the  country,  where  there  is  little  but 
sand,  wood  and  mud,  a  stone,  a  piece  of  iron,  or  any 
small  thing  of  weight,  can  be  put  to  many  uses." 

[134] 


The  House-Boat 

After  reaching  the  road  we  had  twenty  miles  to 
walk  to  reach  the  nearest  railway  station,  at  which 
place  we  arrived  late  that  night,  the  young  Texan 
being  then  weak  and  exhausted.  A  train  was  leav- 
ing at  midnight  for  New  Orleans,  and,  after  seeing 
him  safely  aboard,  we  sat  in  the  station  till  day- 
break. Early  the  next  morning  we  were  examining 
the  town,  waiting  for  business  to  start,  so  that  we 
might  enquire  as  to  its  prospects  for  work.  This 
seemed  to  be  good,  there  being  a  large  stave  factory 
which  employed  a  number  of  men.  We  succeeded 
in  our  quest,  starting  to  work  that  morning,  and  at 
dinner  time  received  a  note  of  introduction  to  an 
hotel.  That  evening  we  associated  with  our  fel- 
low-workmen, and,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  we 
discovered  that  there  was  no  particular  time  to  re- 
ceive wages,  there  being  no  regular  pay  day.  Some- 
times wages  ran  on  for  a  month,  six  weeks,  two 
months,  etc.  At  the  present  time  no  man  had  re- 
ceived wages  for  over  two  months.  "Of  course," 
he  explained  to  us,  "anything  you  require  you  can 
easily  get  an  order  for  on  the  stores."  We  worked 
two  weeks  at  this  factory,  when  I  was  taken  ill  my- 
self with  malaria,  and  not  being  able  to  eat,  soon 
became  too  weak  for  work.  In  this  condition  I 
went  to  the  office  for  my  money,  but  could  not  get 
it,  and  saw  that  nothing  else  could  be  done  than 
to  get  an  order  on  the  stores,  and  take  my  wages 
out  in  clothes,  shoes,  etc.     Scotty  was  scared  at  this, 

[13;] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

and  quitted  work  at  once  to  demand  his  wages  in 
cash,  and  there  I  left  him,  waiting  for  a  settle- 
ment. I  intended  going  to  Memphis,  the  nearest 
large  town,  and  placing  myself  in  its  hospital,  whilst 
Scotty  was  going  to  New  Orleans,  where  I  promised 
to  meet  him  in  a  month,  providing  I  was  sufficiently 
recovered  to  do  so. 

I  don't  know  what  possessed  me  to  walk  out  of 
this  town,  instead  of  taking  a  train,  but  this  I  did, 
to  my  regret.  For  I  became  too  weak  to  move,  and, 
coming  to  a  large  swamp,  I  left  the  railroad  and 
crawled  into  it,  and  for  three  days  and  the  same 
number  of  nights,  lay  there  without  energy  to  con- 
tinue my  journey.  Wild  hungry  hogs  were  there, 
who  approached  dangerously  near,  but  ran  snort- 
ing away  when  my  body  moved.  A  score  or  more 
of  buzzards  had  perched  waiting  on  the  branches 
above  me,  and  I  knew  that  the  place  was  teeming 
with  snakes.  I  suffered  from  a  terrible  thirst,  and 
drank  of  the  swamp-pools,  stagnant  water  that  was 
full  of  germs,  and  had  the  colours  of  the  rainbow, 
one  dose  of  which  would  have  poisoned  some  men 
to  death.  When  the  chill  was  upon  me,  I  crawled 
into  the  hot  sun,  and  lay  there  shivering  with  the 
cold;  and  when  the  hot  fever  possessed  me,  I  crawled 
back  into  the  shade.  Not  a  morsel  to  eat  for  four 
days,  and  very  little  for  several  days  previous.  I 
could  see  the  trains  pass  this  way  and  that,  but  had 
not  the  strength  to  call.    Most  of  the  trains  whistled, 

[136] 


The  House-Boat 

and  I  knew  that  they  stopped  either  for  water  or 
coal  within  a  mile  of  where  I  lay.  Knowing  this 
to  be  the  case,  and  certain  that  it  would  be  death 
to  remain  longer  in  this  deadly  swamp,  I  managed 
to  reach  the  railroad  track,  and  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing the  next  station,  where  most  of  these  trains 
stopped.  The  distance  had  been  less  than  a  mile, 
but  it  had  taken  me  two  hours  to  accomplish.  I 
then  paid  my  way  from  this  station,  being  in  a  hurry 
to  reach  Memphis,  thinking  my  life  was  at  its  close. 
When  I  reached  that  town,  I  took  a  conveyance  from 
the  station  to  the  hospital.  At  that  place  my  con- 
dition was  considered  to  be  very  serious,  but  the 
doctor  always  bore  me  in  mind,  for  we  were  both  of 
the  same  nationality,  and  to  that,  I  believe,  I  owe 
my  speedy  recovery. 


[137] 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  LYNCHING 

UPON  leaving  the  hospital,  I  remained  sev- 
eral days  in  Memphis,  spending  most  of  my 
hours  enjoying  the  shade  and  sunshine  of  a 
small  park,  which  is  pleasantly  situated  in  the  main 
portion  of  that  town.  One  morning,  while  doing 
this,  I  was  accosted  by  one  whom  I  soon  recognised 
as  a  fellow  worker  of  mine  in  the  stave  factory. 
From  him  I  learnt  that  the  firm  had  smashed,  no 
pay  day  had  come,  and  the  stores  had  all  absolutely 
refused  to  honour  the  firm's  orders ;  while  some  men 
had  left  the  town  disgusted,  and  others  were  pa- 
tiently waiting  a  settlement  that  would  never  come. 
This  man  was  going  north,  so  I  left  him  at  Mem- 
phis, intending  to  beat  my  way  to  New  Orleans,  and 
from  that  town  to  the  state  of  Texas. 

These  states  of  Tennessee,  Arkansas,  Mississippi 
and  Louisiana,  are  the  homes  of  the  negroes  of  old. 
It  is  a  strange  contrast  to  see  the  old  negroes,  who 
in  their  young  days  were  slaves,  reverently  raising 
their  hats  to  any  seedy  looking  white  man  whom 
they  meet,  calling  him  such  titles  as  captain,  major, 

[138] 


A  Lynching 

colonel  and  even  general — and  the  half  defiant 
gloom  of  the  free,  young  generations,  who  are  still 
in  some  respects  slaves  to  the  white  men.  These 
negroes  lived  in  small  wooden  shanties,  and  rarely 
received  money  for  their  labour.  They  worked  for 
the  planter  at  so  much  a  day.  This  gentleman  kept 
on  the  plantation  a  large  general  store,  and  supplied 
their  wants  at  such  an  exorbitant  price  that  the  ne- 
groes were  seldom  out  of  debt,  when  the  busy  sea- 
son commenced.  In  the  cities,  silk  would  be  far 
cheaper  than  the  common  flimsy  muslin  which  poor 
black  Dinah  so  much  coveted  from  her  master's  store. 
I  have  heard  many  an  old  negro  say  that  he  was  far 
worse  off  as  a  freeman  than  as  a  slave. 

The  prisons  in  the  north  were  like  hotels,  but  here 
in  the  south  went  to  the  extreme  of  cruelty.  In 
some  places  a  man  would  be  tried  and  perhaps  fined 
ten  dollars  and  costs.  A  citizen,  having  need  of  a 
cheap  labourer,  would  pay  this  fine,  take  possession 
of  the  prisoner,  and  make  him  work  out  his  fine  on 
the  farm.  This  citizen  would  buy  the  prisoner 
cheap  overalls,  dungarees,  shirts,  shoes,  etc.,  for  a 
few  dollars,  and  charge  the  prisoner  four  times  their 
amount.  The  prisoner  was  not  free  to  refuse  these, 
and  being  forced  to  work  out  their  price,  was  kept 
in  this  way  twice  the  number  of  his  days.  I  was 
very  much  afraid  of  all  this,  although  a  wandering 
white  man  was  not  in  nearly  so  much  danger  as  a 
negro. 

[139] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Some  days  after  leaving  Memphis,  I  arrived  at  a 

small  town,  where  I  was  surprised  to  see  an  unusual 

amount  of  bustle,  the  surrounding  country  for  miles 

having  sent  in  all  its  able  bodied  men.     Every  man 

was  armed  with  a  gun,   and  they  stood  in  small 

groups  talking  outside  the  various  stores.     It  seemed 

as  though  there  had  been  rumours  of  an  invasion, 

and  that  these  men  were  organising  to  defend  their 

homes  and  country,  but  I  had  not  the  least  idea  of 

what  had  really  happened.     The  small  groups  now 

began  to  join  together  into  larger  ones,  and  the  larger 

groups  joined  until  they  became  one  large  body  of 

men.     This   one  body   then   shouldered  guns   and 

moved  quickly  along  the  main  street,  the  men's  faces 

being  drawn  and  pale.     I  followed  on,  perhaps  the 

one  unarmed  man  among  them,  curious  to  know  the 

meaning  of  it  all.     They  came  at  last  to  a  halt, 

and,  to  see  the  reason  for  this,  I  stepped  across  the 

way,  and  saw  that  they  had  halted  before  a  large 

building,  which,  by  its  barred  windows,  I  had  no 

difficulty  in  recognising  as  the  jail.     One  man  had 

curled  around  his  shoulders  a  long  rope,  and  this 

man  with  two  others  knocked  loudly  with  the  butt 

ends  of  their  guns  on  the  prison  door.     Almost  in 

an  instant  the  door  was  flung  wide  open,  and  the 

sheriff  stood  in  the  open  way  to  know  their  wants. 

The  men  must  have  demanded  the  prison  keys,  for 

I  saw  the  sheriff  at  once  produce  them,  which  he 

handed  to  these  men  without  the  least  show  of  re- 

[140] 


A  Lynching 

sistance.  This  man  with  the  rope  and  several  others 
then  entered  the  jail,  and  the  silent  crowd  without 
cast  their  eyes  in  that  direction.  Up  to  the  pres- 
ent time  I  had  not  heard  a  distinct  voice,  nothing 
but  the  buzz  of  low  whispering.  But  suddenly  from 
the  jail's  interior  there  came  a  loud  shriek  and  a 
voice  crying  for  mercy.  Men  now  appeared  in  the 
open  doorway,  dragging  after  them  a  negro  at  the 
end  of  a  rope.  This  unfortunate  wretch  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  terror  that  is  seldom  seen  in  a  human  be- 
ing. He  fell  on  his  knees  to  pray,  but  was  jerked 
to  his  feet  ere  he  could  murmur  the  first  words,  O 
Lord.  He  staggered  to  and  fro  and  sideways,  at 
the  same  time  howling  and  jabbering,  foaming  at 
the  mouth,  and  showing  the  horrible  white  of  his 
eyes,  I  can  well  understand  a  man  screaming,  trem- 
bling and  crying  for  mercy,  when  actually  enduring 
bodily  pain,  but  that  one  should  show  such  a  terror 
at  the  thought  of  it,  filled  me  more  with  disgust  than 
pity.  That  this  prisoner  should  have  been  so  brutal 
and  unfeeling  in  inflicting  pain  on  another,  and 
should  now  show  so  much  cowardice  in  anticipation 
of  receiving  punishment  inadequate  to  his  offence, 
dried  in  me  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  and  ban- 
ished my  first  thoughts,  which  had  been  to  escape 
this  horrible  scene  without  witnessing  its  end.  For 
it  was  now  I  remembered  reading  of  this  man's  of- 
fence, and  it  was  of  the  most  brutal  kind,  being 
much  like  the  work  of  a  wild  beast.     They  now 

[141] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

marched  him  from  the  jail,  their  strong  arms  sup- 
porting his  terror  stricken  limbs,  but  no  man  reviled 
him  with  his  tongue,  and  I  saw  no  cowardly  hand 
strike  him.  Soon  they  came  to  a  group  of  trees  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and,  choosing  the  largest 
of  these,  they  threw  the  rope's  end  over  its  strongest 
branch,  the  prisoner  at  the  same  time  crying  for 
mercy,  and  trying  to  throw  his  body  full  on  the 
ground.  When  this  was  done  a  dozen  hands  caught 
the  rope's  end,  made  one  quick  jerk,  and  the  prison- 
er's body  was  struggling  in  the  air.  Then  all  these 
men  shouldered  their  guns,  fired  one  volley,  and  in 
a  second  the  body  was  hanging  lifeless  with  a  hun- 
dred shots.  In  five  minutes  after  this,  nothing  but 
the  corpse  remained  to  tell  of  what  had  occurred,  the 
men  having  quietly  scattered  towards  their  homes. 
A  {gw  days  after  this,  I  was  in  New  Orleans,  in- 
tending to  spend  a  week  or  two  in  that  city,  before 
I  started  on  my  journey  to  Texas.  It  was  in  this 
city,  three  days  after  my  arrival,  that  I  became  the 
victim  of  an  outrage  which  was  as  unsatisfactory  to 
others  as  to  myself.  Having  been  to  the  theatre, 
and  being  on  my  way  back  home  late  at  night,  half 
a  dozen  men,  whom  I  scarcely  had  time  to  recognise 
as  negroes,  sprang  from  a  dark  corner,  and,  without 
saying  a  word,  or  giving  the  least  chance  of  escape 
or  defence,  biffed  and  banged  at  my  face  and  head 
until  I  fell  unconscious  at  their  feet.  Their  motive, 
without  a  doubt,  was  robbery,  but  having  my  money 

[142] 


A  Lynching 

concealed  in  a  belt  next  to  my  body,  they  had  to 
be  satisfied  with  a  five  cent  piece,  which  was  all  my 
pockets  contained.  Such  brutal  outrages  as  these 
are  seldom  committed  by  white  men,  who  having 
the  more  cool  courage,  demand  a  man's  money  at 
the  commencement,  and  do  not  resort  to  violence, 
except  it  be  their  victim's  wish.  But  this  not  very 
intelligent  race  half  murder  a  man  without  being 
sure  of  anything  for  their  pains.  White  men  will 
search  a  man  as  he  stands,  and  if  he  possesses  noth- 
ing, he  may  go  his  way  uninjured,  followed  per- 
haps, by  a  curse  or  two  of  disappointment;  but  these 
negroes  prefer  to  murder  a  man  first,  and  then  to 
search  the  dead  body.  They  are  certainly  born 
thieves.  On  the  river  boats,  that  ply  the  Mississippi 
from  St.  Louis  to  New  Orleans,  which  are  all 
manned  by  negroes,  with  the  exception  of  those  hold- 
ing the  higher  offices,  a  negro  thief  will  often  spoil  a 
six  dollar  pair  of  trousers  in  robbing  his  victim  of 
a  twenty-five  cent  piece.  When  a  man  is  asleep  the 
negro  will  bend  over  him,  feeling  the  outside  of  his 
trousers  where  the  pockets  are.  If  he  feels  the  shape 
of  a  coin,  instead  of  working  his  fingers  carefully 
into  the  mouth  of  the  pocket,  he  takes  out  his  razor 
and,  holding  the  coin  with  the  fingers  of  his  left 
hand,  cuts  it  out,  bringing  away  coin,  part  of  the 
lining,  pocket  and  trousers.  When  the  victim  wakes 
he,  or  some  one  else,  sees  the  hole,  and  they  at  once 
know  the  meaning  of  it.     I  remember  a  trip  on  one 

[143] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

of  these  boats  when  a  white  man  feigned  a  sleep, 
lying  on  his  back  on  a  bale  of  cotton,  with  his  hands 
in  his  coat  pockets.  In  his  right  pocket  was  a  re- 
volver, which  his  right  hand  held  ready  cocked  for 
use.  These  negroes  are  always  on  the  look  out  for 
sleepers,  and  one  of  these  thieves  was  soon  bending 
over  his  expected  victim.  He  had  felt  a  coin  and, 
taking  out  his  razor,  was  in  the  act  of  cutting  it 
out,  when  there  was  a  sharp  report,  and  the  negro 
fell  back  shot  through  the  brain.  The  supposed 
sleeper  quietly  rose  to  his  feet,  and  when  the  captain 
and  some  officers  came,  he  simply  pointed  to  the 
negro  and  the  fallen  razor,  and  no  other  explanation 
was  needed.  At  the  next  stopping  place  the  captain 
had  a  few  words  with  the  authorities,  and  the  dead 
body  was  taken  ashore,  but  the  white  passenger  con- 
tinued his  journey  without  being  bothered  about  a 
trial  or  examination.  There  was  no  more  thieving 
during  that  trip. 

I  soon  left  New  Orleans,  being  possessed  with  a 
restless  spirit,  and,  after  visiting  Galveston,  Euston, 
and  many  more  towns  of  less  importance,  I  made 
my  way  through  the  heart  of  Texas  to  the  town  of 
Paris,  which  lies  on  the  borders  of  the  Indian  terri- 
tory. It  was  in  a  saloon  in  the  main  street  of  this 
town  that  I  had  my  attention  drawn  to  a  glass  case, 
wherein  was  seen  hanging  a  cord,  at  the  end  of 
which  was  something  that  looked  very  much  like  a 

[144] 


A  Lynching 

walnut.  On  looking  closer,  I  saw  a  small  heap  of 
dust  at  the  bottom.  Seeing  that  this  case  contained 
no  stuffed  animal,  nor  any  model  of  ingenious 
mechanism,  I  began  to  read  the  printed  matter,  curi- 
ous for  an  explanation.  This  small  thing  dangling 
at  the  end  of  the  cord  purported  to  be  the  heart  of 
a  negro,  whom  the  people  had  some  time  previously 
burned  at  the  stake.  He  had  suffered  a  terrible 
death :  so  had  his  little  victim,  a  mere  child  of  a  few 
years,  who  had  been  found  in  the  woods  torn  limb 
from  limb.  This  negro  had  been  arrested  by  the 
sheriff,  and  sentenced  to  a  short  term  adequate  to 
his  offence.  After  he  had  been  released,  he  had 
taken  his  revenge  on  the  sheriff's  child,  bearing  her 
off  when  on  her  way  to  school.  The  sheriff's  wife, 
being  the  child's  mother,  had  with  her  own  hand 
applied  the  torch  to  this  monster,  and  if  her  hand 
had  failed,  any  woman  in  this  land  of  many  millions 
would  have  willingly  done  her  this  service. 

I  left  Paris  that  night,  catching  a  fast  cattle  train, 
and  arrived  the  following  morning  at  Fort  Smith, 
Arkansas.  Bill  Cook,  the  train  and  bank  robber, 
and  his  gang,  were  being  tried  this  morning,  and  a 
special  train  was  now  waiting  to  convey  them  to  the 
penitentiary.  I  saw  this  notorious  free-booter,  when 
he  was  brought  to  the  station — a  young  man  be- 
tween twenty  and  thirty  years,  receiving  a  sentence 
of  forty  years'   imprisonment.     One  of  his  gang, 

[145] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Cherokee  Bill,  a  desperado  of  nineteen  years,  was 
indicted  for  murder,  and  remained  in  Fort  Smith  to 
be  hanged.  The  train  steamed  out  with  its  many 
deputies  to  guard  a  few  prisoners — few,  but  proved 
to  be  very  dangerous. 


[146] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    CAMP 

WHO  would  have  dreamt  that  so  many 
well  known  beggars  would  have  met 
together  at  one  camp,  without  any  pre- 
arranged plans'?  The  time  was  morning  and  the 
scene  was  on  the  outskirts  of  Pittsburg,  and  the  char- 
acters were  Philadelphia  Slim  and  Wee  Shorty,  who 
had  all  night  ridden  the  freight  car  and  had  now 
dismounted  near  the  camp,  which  they  knew  of  old. 
They  both  had  cold  victuals  in  plenty,  with  dry 
coffee  and  sugar,  and  they  were  not  long  in  making 
a  blaze  and  fetching  water  from  the  spring  before 
they  were  seated  comfortably  to  their  breakfast,  after 
which  they  intended  to  sleep,  for  they  were  more 
weary  than  working  men. 

They  were  not  without  money;  for  Wee  Shorty 
and  Slim  had,  the  day  previous,  been  encamped  with 
others  about  a  hundred  miles  from  the  present  spot, 
at  which  place  there  had  come  to  the  camp  an  un- 
fortunate blacksmith  who  possessed  society  papers 
but  lacked  courage  to  beg  with  them.  On  which 
Wee  Shorty  had  conceived  a  most  daring  plan,  which 
was  to  borrow  the  aforesaid  papers,  with  the  black- 

[147] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

smith's  consent,  and  to  make  his  way  to  the  nearest 
blacksmith's  shop.  With  this  idea  in  his  mind  the 
Wee  Man  had  bound  his  hand  in  white  linen,  so 
that  he  could  plead  disablement  in  case  the  black- 
smith doubted  him  to  be  the  legitimate  owner  of 
the  papers,  and  to  prove  his  veracity,  would  test 
him  with  a  little  job.  After  binding  his  hand  in 
this  way,  Wee  Shorty,  who  was  no  more  than  five 
feet  in  height,  and  who  had  small  white  hands  and 
a  pale  face,  and  whose  weight  never  exceeded  seven 
stone  and  a  half,  and  who  looked  more  like  a  sickly 
tailor  than  a  blacksmith — after  taking  this  precau- 
tion, Wee  Shorty  made  his  way  to  the  blacksmith's 
shop.  In  less  than  twenty  minutes  he  had  returned 
with  a  dollar  in  small  change,  and  had  returned  the 
poor  blacksmith  his  papers,  and  generously  given 
him  one-fourth  of  his  makings.  Yes,  it  would  in- 
deed be  a  hard  town  if  this  wee  fellow  failed  to  make 
money. 

As  I  have  already  said,  Slim  and  the  artful  one 
were  tired  after  their  night's  ride,  and  they  were 
well  pleased  to  find  the  camp  unoccupied  by  stran- 
gers. But  they  had  scarcely  made  their  coffee  and 
swallowed  the  first  mouthful,  when  the  dried  twigs 
were  heard  to  crack  beneath  a  heavy  tread  and,  the 
next  moment,  there  walked  into  the  camp  the  Indian 
Kid,  whom  the  present  proprietors  had  not  seen  for 
over  twelve  months. 

What  a  meeting  was  there,  and  what  confidences 

[148] 


The  Camp 

were  exchanged.  There  was  good  reason  for  the 
Kid  not  having  been  seen,  for  he  had  been  incar- 
cerated in  a  jail.  He  had  committed  his  first  and 
last  burglary,  which  had  not  been  done  with  an  eye 
to  profit,  but  out  of  a  mean  spirit  of  revenge.  He 
had  been  refused  charity  at  a  house  and,  on  leaving 
the  place,  had  spied  a  small  outhouse  in  which  he 
saw  m'  ay  things  easy  to  carry,  and  easily  to  be  con- 
verted into  money.  Bearing  this  in  mind  he  had 
returned  after  dark,  scaled  the  back  wall,  and  was 
soon  in  possession  of  a  large  bundle  consisting  of 
shirts,  frocks,  shoes  and  various  carpenter's  tools. 
All  this  had  been  done  through  a  spirit  of  revenge, 
for  the  Kid  swore  that  he  could  have  begged  the 
worth  of  the  bundle  in  half  an  hour.  Being  in 
possession  of  that  bundle  at  that  strange  hour  of 
the  night,  he  was  afraid  to  carry  it  into  the  town  for 
fear  that  the  police  would  enquire  his  business,  so 
he  hid  it  in  the  bushes,  which  in  the  night  looked 
so  dark  and  thick;  after  which  he  had  artfully 
walked  some  distance  away,  and  laid  himself  down 
to  sleep  until  morning.  It  must  have  been  daylight 
for  several  hours  when  the  Kid  rose  hastily  and 
went  in  quest  of  his  bundle.  But  the  bundle  had 
disappeared,  and  the  Kid  had  been  cruelly  robbed, 
by  early  workmen  he  at  first  thought,  who  had  spied 
the  bundle  in  the  bushes,  which  appeared  so  much 
less  heavy  by  day  than  by  night.  However  it  was 
not  the  early  workman  who  had  done  this,  but  a 

[149] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

plain  clothes  policeman  who  still  hid  behind  the 
bushes  and,  seeing  the  Kid  searching  for  his  bundle, 
sprang  from  concealment,  saying — "You  are  look- 
ing for  a  bundle,  and  I  am  looking  for  you."  Such 
was  the  Kid's  story,  recited  at  great  pains,  for  he 
often  rambled  in  his  discourse  to  laud  himself  as  a 
successful  beggar  who  would,  on  no  account,  commit 
burglary  for  profit;  all  of  which  accounted  for  his 
twelve  months'  disappearance. 

His  story  was  scarcely  at  an  end  when  who  should 
walk  into  the  camp  but  Windy,  the  talkative  Windy, 
whose  tongue  had  entertained  many  a  camp  with 
strange  and  unique  experiences.  Of  course,  at  his 
heels  was  Pennsylvania  Dutch,  a  faithful  friend 
enough  but  a  poor  beggar,  who  was  no  more  than 
a  pensioner  on  Windy's  bounty,  and  acted  the  part 
of  a  man-servant. 

But  there  was  another  surprise  to  follow ;  for  Eng- 
lish Harry,  who  had  been  in  Pittsburg  for  some 
time  past,  having  now  walked  out  of  the  city  to 
take  a  glance  at  the  camp,  walked  into  it  at  this 
very  time,  and  to  his  astonishment  and  joy  found 
the  place  in  possession  of  good  beggars  instead  of 
common  work  seekers,  as  he  had  at  first  feared. 

Only  imagine  all  these  notorious  men  meeting  to- 
gether haphazard  in  this  manner.  They  could 
scarcely  recover  their  astonishment.  There  was 
nothing  else  to  be  done  but  to  make  a  muster  of 

[>5o] 


The  Camp 

what  money  was  in  the  camp,  and  to  send  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch  for  its  worth  in  whisky,  so  as  to  cele- 
brate such  an  event  by  a  carousal.  This  was  at 
once  done,  and  Windy's  pensioner  shook  off  his  lazi- 
ness from  head  to  foot,  which  made  Wee  Shorty 
sarcastically  remark — "Dutchy  would  rather  buy 
than  beg,"  To  which  Windy,  in  a  voice  of  despair, 
answered — "He  will  never  make  a  beggar  and,  if  I 
did  not  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  him,  or  anything  oc- 
curred to  part  us,  he  would  live  in  orchards  and 
turnip  fields  until  he  saw  a  chance  to  become  a 
working  man.  He  confessed,  when  I  first  met  him, 
that  he  had  lived  for  ten  days  on  green  corn  and 
apples,  so  I  took  him  in  hand  and  kept  him,  think- 
ing my  example  would  rouse  him  to  action,  but  it 
was  of  no  use,  for  the  poor  fellow  has  not  the  heart. 
However,  I  never  forget  poor  Dutchy  when  I  am 
foraging,"  said  Windy,  rather  tenderly. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  object  of  these  remarks 
returned  and  placed  before  his  companions  two  bot- 
tles of  whisky.  "Now,  boys,"  said  Windy,  after 
he  had  become  affected  by  several  lots  of  spirits — 
"Now,  boys,  I  propose  that  we  hold  this  camp  down 
for  a  whole  week,  and  we  will  all  rag  up" — mean- 
ing that  they  would  beg  clothes  and  put  on  the 
appearance  of  gentlemen.  His  proposal  was  unani- 
mously seconded,  and  was  quickly  followed  by  a 
suggestion  from  the  Indian  Kid  that  they  should 

['5'] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

finish  the  whisky,  which  also  met  with  no  objec- 
tion. "We  will  hold  the  camp,"  cried  Windy, 
"against  all  comers."  They  would  certainly  find 
no  necessity  for  defending  their  privacy,  for  one 
glance  at  these  six  men,  especially  in  their  present 
condition,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  deter  any 
decent-minded  person  from  entering.  This  camp 
was  now  far  more  private  than  Mrs,  Brown's  house 
in  town,  who  had  a  neighbour  that  never  entered 
other  people's  doors  without  first  knocking;  but 
which  neighbour  never  gave  Mrs.  Brown,  or  any 
one  else,  the  chance  to  remove  sundry  things  that 
were  better  concealed,  nor  waited  to  hear  the  cry 
"come  in";  for  she  entered  as  she  knocked,  saying 
— "Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Brown,  it  is  only  Mrs. 
White." 

Alas,  the  whisky  soon  gave  Out,  and  there  was 
no  more  money,  and  what  was  to  be  done*?  "I 
propose,"  said  English  Harry,  "that  we  leave  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch  in  charge  of  the  camp  while  we  go 
out  foraging  for  an  hour."  To  this  they  all  agreed, 
and  made  their  way  towards  the  town.  On  reaching 
the  suburbs  they  divided  and  went  in  different  direc- 
tions, with  the  understanding  that  each  man  should 
be  returned  to  the  camp  in  less  than  two  hours,  and 
that  each  one  should  have  no  less  than  half  a  dollar. 

How  it  was  done  was  a  mystery,  but  Wee  Shorty 
was  back  in  less  than  an  hour,  not  only  with  half 
a  dollar  but  with  twenty  cents'  worth  of  whisky  in 

[152] 


The  Camp 

a  bottle.  He  was  soon  followed  by  Windy,  who 
had  begged  fifty-five  cents.  After  which  came  in 
English  Harry  and  the  Indian  Kid  together,  each 
with  half  a  dollar.  But  where  was  Philadelphia 
Slim,  Wee  Shorty's  boon  companion^  For  these 
were  good  beggars  all,  who  could  have  almost  per- 
suaded the  birds  to  feed  them  in  the  wilderness,  and 
Slim  was  by  no  means  the  worst,  even  though  the 
Wee  Man  was  by  a  small  degree  the  best.  Until 
they  knew  the  fate  of  poor  Slim  they  felt  very  little 
inclination  to  continue  their  carousal. 

It  might  have  been  three-quarters  of  an  hour  after 
the  return  of  English  Harry  and  the  Kid,  when  they 
heard  a  step  coming  through  the  bush  and,  turning 
their  eyes  that  way,  were  soon  confronted  by  their 
late  companion  Slim.  He  had  a  large  bundle  under 
his  arm,  but  to  the  surprise  and  anxiety  of  his  com- 
panions, was  holding  to  his  nose  a  blood-stained 
pocket  handkerchief.  "Who  has  done  that,  Slim*?" 
cried  Wee  Shorty,  who  had  surreptitiously  fortified 
himself  with  whisky,  and  who,  being  the  smallest 
man,  was  naturally  the  most  ferocious — "Who  has 
done  that?"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet  and,  with 
his  hands  dangerously  clenched,  standing  to  his  full 
height.  Slim  did  not  answer  this  question  at  once, 
but  threw  down  his  bundle;  after  which  he  produced 
a  dollar  bill  and  placed  it  thereon.  Pointing  then 
to  the  twain  with  his  right  hand — his  left  hand  still 
being   occupied   with   his   bleeding   nose — he   said, 

[>53] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

"Here  is  a  suit  of  clothes  and  a  dollar  bill,  and  I 
have  well  earned  them."  Such  words  were  mysteri- 
ous to  his  associates,  for  they  knew  that  Slim  would 
never  at  any  price  perform  labour,  and  they  came 
to  the  conclusion  in  their  own  minds  that  he  had 
forcibly  taken  these  things  in  a  very  h\^h.  handed 
fashion,  and  had  suffered  in  the  act.  What  a  dis- 
grace to  the  profession! 

After  enquiring  if  there  was  any  whisky  to  be 
had,  and  being  supplied  with  the  same  by  his  par- 
ticular friend  Wee  Shorty,  Slim  proposed  that  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch  should  be  again  despatched  with  all 
speed  for  a  fresh  supply.  Seeing  this  done  he  then 
seated  himself  and  proceeded  to  give  his  experience. 

It  seems  that  Slim  had  had  more  difficulty  than 
was  expected.  A  full  half  hour  had  elapsed,  and 
Slim  had  not  received  one  cent,  although  he  had 
told  his  pitiful  story  to  a  number  of  people.  He 
almost  began  to  despair  of  success,  but  firmly  re- 
solved not  to  return  without  something  to  show  for 
his  trouble.  Seeing  a  very  large  house  he  went  to 
the  front  door  and  rang  the  bell,  but  the  door  re- 
mained unanswered.  Not  to  be  baffled  by  this,  and 
beginning  to  feel  desperate,  he  made  his  way  to 
the  back  of  the  house,  and  was  just  about  to  knock 
at  the  back  door  when  a  voice  hailed  him  from  an 
adjoining  shed.  Turning  his  eyes  in  that  direction 
he  saw  a  man  in  his  white  shirt  sleeves,  who  seemed 
to  be  the  master  of  the  house.     Now,  as  Slim  looked 

[■54] 


The  Camp 

across,  he  saw  into  the  shed,  and  behold  there  was 
a  punching  ball  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  which 
was  still  moving  as  though  this  gentleman  had  only 
that  moment  finished  practising.  On  Slim  explain- 
ing his  wants,  which  had  been  increasing  in  num- 
ber through  his  ill-success,  the  gentleman  quietly 
went  to  a  shelf  and  taking  therefrom  a  pair  of  box- 
ing gloves  told  Slim  that  if  he  would  oblige  him 
with  ten  minutes'  practice  with  the  same,  he  would 
reward  him  with  a  dollar.  Now  it  happened  that 
these  things  were  not  entirely  unknown  to  Slim,  and 
once  or  twice  in  his  life  he  had  actually  had  them  in 
his  hands — but  not  on — and  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  they  could  do  but  very  little  hurt. 
Therefore  he  donned  the  gloves,  being  as  eager  to 
earn  an  easy  dollar  as  the  master  of  the  house  was 
eager  to  practise.  Alas!  it  was  this  difference  in 
their  motives  which  gave  the  gentleman  an  over- 
whelming victory  and  poor  Slim  a  bloody  nose  and 
such  aching  bones.  "For,"  said  Slim  to  us,  "sup- 
pose I  had  knocked  him  out,  who  was  to  pay  me 
my  dollar*?  He  attacked  me  like  a  mad  bull,  and 
all  I  dare  do  was  to  act  on  the  defence.  Several 
times  he  left  an  opening  which,  had  I  taken  ad- 
vantage of,  would  have  ended  in  his  collapse;  and 
if  he  had  died,  there  had  been  no  witness  to  hear 
what  bargain  had  been  made  between  us.  Being 
at  such  a  disadvantage  as  I  was,"  Slim  continued, 
"he  would,  no  doubt,  have  made  matters  worse  if 

[155] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

my  nose  had  not  bled,  which  I  began  to  wipe  with 
the  gloves.  Seeing  this  he  was  afraid  my  blood 
would  be  conveyed  by  means  of  gloves  to  his  own 
person,  so  he  asked  me  if  I  had  had  enough.  I 
thanked  him  that  I  had  and,  as  we  made  our  way 
towards  the  house,  told  him  I  would  be  thankful 
for  any  old  clothes  to  replace  my  own,  which  were 
now  stained  with  blood.  He  seemed  to  be  so  pleased 
at  having  drawn  my  blood  that  I  believe  he  would 
have  given  me  anything  I  asked  for.  Here  are  the 
clothes,  but  I  don't  know  what  they  are  like." 

Such  was  Slim's  experience.  On  an  inspection 
of  the  bundle  it  was  found  to  contain  a  clean  shirt, 
a  pair  of  socks,  two  handkerchiefs,  and  an  almost 
brand  new  suit  of  clothes. 

Just  as  Philadelphia  Slim  ended  his  story,  Penn- 
sylvania Dutch  returned  with  the  whisky,  and  we 
all  caroused  until  sleep  overpowered  us. 


[156] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HOME 

I  HAD  now  been  in  the  United  States  of 
America  something  like  five  years,  working 
here  and  there  as  the  inclination  seized  me, 
which,  I  must  confess  was  not  often.  I  was  certainly 
getting  some  enjoyment  out  of  life,  but  now  and 
then  the  waste  of  time  appalled  me,  for  I  still  had 
a  conviction  that  I  was  born  to  a  different  life. 
The  knowledge  that  I  had  the  advantage  over  the 
majority  of  strangers  in  that  country,  often  con- 
soled me  when  feeling  depressed.  For  my  old 
grandmother  had  left  me  one-third  profit  of  a  small 
estate,  my  share  at  that  time  amounting  to  ten  shill- 
ings per  week,  and  during  these  five  years  I  had  not 
drawn  one  penny,  therefore  having  over  a  hundred 
pounds  entered  to  my  account.  So,  when  one  would 
say  how  much  he  desired  to  return  to  his  native 
land,  but  had  no  means  of  doing  so,  I  would  then 
explain  how  it  could  easily  be  done  on  the  cattle 
boats.  And  if  he  protested,  saying  that  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  return  penniless  after  so  many  years 
abroad,  although  I  had  no  answer  to  console  him, 
his  objection  was  a  pleasant  reminder  of  my  own 

[157] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

expectations.  It  was  this  knowledge  that  made  me 
so  idle  and  so  indifferent  to  saving;  and  it  was  this 
small  income  that  has  been,  and  is  in  a  commercial 
sense,  the  ruin  of  my  life. 

It  was  now  the  end  of  October,  and  I  was  in  Chi- 
cago squandering  a  summer's  earnings,  having,  dur- 
ing the  previous  months,  worked  on  a  fruit  farm 
in  Illinois.  I  had  been  idling  for  three  weeks,  visit- 
ing the  various  theatres  at  night,  and  reading  during 
the  day.  One  Sunday,  I  had  bought  a  weekly  paper, 
wherein  I  read  an  appreciation  of  the  poet. Bums, 
with  numerous  quotations  from  his  work.  My 
thoughts  wandered  back  to  the  past,  the  ambition 
of  my  early  days,  and  the  encouraging  words  of  my 
elders. 

"Ah  I"  I  said,  with  a  sigh,  "if  during  these  five 
years  I  had  had  the  daily  companionship  of  good 
books,  instead  of  all  this  restless  wandering  to  and 
fro  in  a  strange  land,  my  mind,  at  the  present  hour, 
might  be  capable  of  some  little  achievement  of  its 
own." 

These  thoughts  haunted  me  all  day,  and  that  night 
a  great  joy  came  over  me;  for  after  my  thoughts 
had  tugged  and  pulled  at  my  heart,  all  pointing  in 
the  one  direction,  which  I  saw  was  towards  Eng- 
land, I  settled  with  myself  to  follow  them  to  that 
place.  So,  that  night,  I  resolved  to  leave  Chicago 
early  the  following  day,  beat  my  way  to  Baltimore, 
work  a  cattle  boat  to  either  Liverpool  or  London,  and 

[158] 


Home 

from  one  of  these  places  make  my  way  back  to 
where  I  belonged.  With  this  object,  I  was  up  early 
the  next  morning,  had  breakfast,  and  in  as  happy 
a  mood  as  when  I  first  landed  in  America,  left  Chi- 
cago for  the  last  time. 

The  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad  was  an  easy 
road  to  beat.  I  had  taken  with  me  a  good  lunch, 
with  a  small  flask  of  whisky,  so  that  I  might  attend 
to  travelling  for  twenty  or  thirty  hours  without  suf- 
fering thirst  or  hunger.  At  the  end  of  thirty-six 
hours  I  got  off  a  train,  now  being  hungry  and  thirsty, 
at  a  small  town,  having  by  then  traversed  half  the 
distance  between  Chicago  and  Baltimore.  Without 
staying  any  length  of  time  in  Pittsburg,  I  caught  a 
train  for  Connesville,  and,  arriving  there  in  a  few 
hours,  had  to  dismount  and  wait  the  next  train  for 
Cumberland,  in  the  State  of  Maryland.  A  train 
was  now  being  made  up,  consisting  of  flat  cars 
loaded  with  iron  rails,  and  coal  cars,  also  loaded. 
There  was  not  much  necessity  on  this  road  of  con- 
cealing oneself,  so  I  boldly  mounted  a  coal  car,  and 
there  I  sat,  exposed  to  the  elements,  and  to  the 
curious  gaze  of  people  at  the  various  small  towns 
through  which  we  passed.  What  surprised  me  not 
a  little  was  that  I  seemed  to  be  the  only  man  that 
was  beating  his  way  on  this  train,  whereas,  this  be- 
ing such  an  easy  road,  most  trains  had  a  number 
of  tramps,  some  of  them  having  two  score  or  more. 
It  did  not  take  me  long  to  notice  that  these  people 

[>59] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

at  the  different  stations  and  villages  stared  at  me 
with  something  like  awe,  had  pale  faces,  pointed  at 
me  in  an  unusual  manner  and  whispered  to  each 
other.  Now,  between  Connesville  and  Cumberland, 
the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad  crosses  the  Alle- 
gheny mountains,  and  often  the  train,  if  heavy,  can 
scarcely  crawl  up,  after  which  it  runs  down  at  a 
terrific  speed.  We  had  just  mounted  a  steep  ele- 
vation, had  reached  the  top,  and  the  train  men  were 
making  fast  their  brakes  for  the  steep  incline  on 
the  other  side  of  the  mountain,  when  my  attention 
was  drawn  to  a  large  number  of  people  assembled 
in  the  valley  below,  some  distance  ahead.  I  then 
saw  that  the  mountain  side  was  covered  with  coal, 
and  between  forty  and  fifty  trucks  lay  in  a  heap 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  This  train  had  ap- 
parently, through  some  cause  or  another,  jumped 
the  rails,  and  the  cars  had  rolled  over  and  over 
from  top  to  bottom.  When  I  reached  Cumberland, 
still  being  stared  at,  and  pointed  out  at  the  various 
stations  and  villages  on  the  way,  it  was  not  long 
before  an  explanation  was  forthcoming.  I,  it 
seemed,  had  followed  a  train  that  had  killed  forty- 
four  men — two  brakesmen,  the  engineer,  conductor, 
and  forty  tramps  who  were  beating  their  way.  On 
coming  down  the  mountain  side,  the  brakes  had 
refused  to  work,  the  fireman  had  jumped  off  in  time 
to  save  his  own  life,  and  the  others  had  all  been 
precipitated  with  the  train  into  the  valley  and  killed. 

[160] 


Home 

It  had  run  with  such  a  reckless  speed  that  it  could 
not  possibly  maintain  its  hold  of  the  rails.  And 
this  accounted  for  my  being  the  one  traveller  on 
this  train,  and  how  horror-stricken  the  people  had 
seemed  at  my  temerity,  which,  of  course,  was  no 
more  than  ignorance  of  the  mishap.  After  this  ride 
I  never  again  felt  comfortable  on  a  train,  much  pre- 
ferring to  take  my  chance  on  the  water,  however 
stormy  it  might  be.  It  made  me  pause  when  this 
same  night  an  unknown  man  was  struck  down  by 
a  fast  express  train,  mangled  and  cut  into  pieces. 
Two  or  three  trains  left  this  town  of  Cumberland 
before  I  could  summon  sufficient  courage  to  ride. 
I  was  standing,  still  wondering  whether  I  should  ride 
or  walk  from  this  town  to  Baltimore,  when  a  switch- 
man, who  had  just  helped  finish  making  ready  a 
train,  said — "Hello.^  lad;  which  way  are  you  go- 
ing, to  Baltimore*?"  On  answering  in  the  affirma- 
tive, he  said,  pointing  to  this  train,  "Jump  on:  you 
will  be  there  early  in  the  morning  I"  Which  I  did, 
at  the  same  time  saying  to  myself,  "This  is  my  last 
train  ride  in  America,  whether  I  live  or  die."  No 
sleep  that  night,  and  I  was  not  sorry  to  reach  Balti- 
more. 

I  had  something  like  fifty  dollars  at  this  time, 
and  intended  to  go  at  once  to  the  cattleman's  office, 
and  to  ship  at  the  first  opportunity,  so  that  I  might 
still  have  a  few  pounds  left  when  I  landed  in  Eng- 
land.    So,  when  I  reached  Baltimore,  I  soon  made 

[161] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

my  way  to  that  place,  and  on  entering,  recognised 
several  of  the  old  cattlemen,  among  whom  was  no 
less  a  person  than  Australian  Red,  who  it  seemed 
had  lost  all  ambition  for  a  more  respectable  life. 
I  invited  him  out,  with  two  others,  and  we  had  sev- 
eral drinks,  and  at  night  visited  the  theatre.  "Now," 
I  said,  after  leaving  the  theatre,  well  knowing  that 
these  men  would  unscrupulously  bleed  me  to  the  last 
cent,  and  would  take  a  cunning  delight  in  robbing 
me  and  bearing  all  expenses  themselves — "now,"  I 
said,  "one  drink  more,  and  we  have  reached  the  end 
of  my  resources." 

Shipping,  Red  explained  to  me  on  the  following 
day,  was  rather  slow  for  experienced  hands.  He 
had  been  begging  Baltimore  for  more  than  six  weeks, 
and  was  still  without  prospect  of  making  a  trip. 
He  explained  that  he  could  go  at  any  time  for  a 
pound,  and  had  had  a  chance  or  two  to  go  for  thirty 
shillings,  but  very  few  two-pound  men  had  been 
called  for  during  the  last  three  months.  "Are  you 
going  out  for  breakfast?"  he  asked.  "If  you  have 
any  more  money  left,  don't  be  foolish  enough  to 
spend  it  on  food,  for  I  can  get  you  more  than  you 
want  of  that,  and  the  money  can  be  used  for  pleas- 
ure." "You  already  know  that  I  have  no  more 
money,"  I  said  to  him,  feeling  myself  change  colour 
with  guilt,  which  he  did  not  notice.  "Wait  here 
till  I  return,"  he  said.  "If  you  don't  feel  inclined 
to  beg,  for  a  day  or  two,  you  need  have  no  fear  of 

[162] 


Home 

starving,"  He  then  left  me,  and,  after  he  had  gone, 
I  followed,  and  feeling  guilty  and  ashamed,  turned 
into  a  restaurant  for  breakfast.  Later  on,  when 
I  returned  to  the  office.  Red  was  waiting  for  me 
with  an  abundance  of  food,  for  he  had  made  extra 
exertion  on  this  particular  morning.  "Come,"  he 
said,  "you  must  be  hungry  by  this  time."  Knowing 
that  I  had  this  part  to  keep  up,  I  sat  down,  but 
after  slowly  eating  a  morsel  or  two,  which  had  been 
difficult  to  swallow,  I  found  it  necessary  to  plead 
a  full  stomach.  Red  was  persistent,  and  so  dissatis- 
fied at  this  that  I  could  not  help  but  feel  grateful 
for  such  kindness,  and,  feeling  more  shame  than 
ever  at  playing  such  a  part,  I  arose,  telling  him  I 
would  wait  for  him  outside  the  office.  He  soon 
followed,  and,  leading  the  way  to  another  part  of 
the  city,  I  commenced  with  him  a  spree  that  ended 
in  a  week's  debauchery.  Both  of  us  then  being  pen- 
niless, we  returned  to  the  cattleman's  office,  to  find 
that  a  good  chance  had  been  lost  in  our  absence,  when 
the  shipper  had  enquired  for  us. 

"What,"  cried  Red,  "go  home  for  good  next  trip, 
eh?  Why,  you  are  cursed,  like  myself,  by  restless- 
ness, and,  mark  me,  you  will  not  remain  six  months 
in  your  native  town."  "Perhaps  not,"  I  said,  "but 
I  assure  you,  that  neither  this  town,  nor  this  country, 
shall  again  feel  my  tread  I" 

Some  days  after  this  I  was  sent  with  several  others 
to  rope  cattle  at  the  yards,  and  there  met  a  foreman 

['63] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

under  whom  I  had  made  a  former  trip.  "Hallo," 
said  he,  "I  have  not  seen  you  for  some  time;  are 
you  going  with  this  lot  of  cattle *?"  "I  don't  know," 
was  my  answer,  "but  I  should  certainly  like  to,  if 
there  is  need  of  a  two-pound  man."  "Well,"  he 
said,  "I'll  put  in  a  good  word  for  you  at  the  office." 
That  night  the  shipping  master  approached  me  on 
the  subject.  "Look  here,"  he  said,  "I  can  only  give 
you  thirty  shillings  for  this  trip.  If  you  like  to 
wait,  you  can  have  two  pounds,  but  I  warn  you, 
the  chance  may  be  a  long  time  coming.  What  do 
you  say^"  "I'll  sign  for  thirty  shillings,"  I  said, 
with  difficulty  trying  to  conceal  my  eagerness;  which 
was  at  once  done.  I  was  alone  on  this  trip,  among 
strangers.  Had  Australian  Red  accompanied  me, 
no  doubt  I  should  have  spent  my  train  fare,  and  been 
forced  to  return  to  America  on  the  same  boat. 

What  an  enjoyable  trip  this  was  from  beginning 
to  end  I  What  music  heard  in  the  weighing  of  the 
anchor,  and  what  a  delightful  sensation  when  the 
good  ship  moved  slowly  from  her  dock!  I  per- 
formed my  duty  with  a  new  pleasure,  leaping  here 
and  there  at  any  sign  of  danger,  giving  one  steer 
longer  or  shorter  rope,  as  the  case  required,  knowing 
what  pleasant  dreams  would  be  mine  at  night,  when 
the  day's  work  was  done.  And  when  this  pleasant 
time  came,  I  would  lie  in  my  bunk  and  take  an  in- 
ventory of  all  the  old  familiar  things  which  had 

[164] 


Home 

been  stored  in  my  memory,  unthought  of  for  over  five 
years,  and  nodiing  would  now  escape  me.  I  had 
written  home  only  three  times  during  this  long  ab- 
sence, three  short  letters  in  my  first  year  abroad. 
Probably  they  had  given  me  up  for  dead,  and  I 
would  appear  at  their  door  as  a  visitant  from  another 
world.  One  thought  often  troubled  me,  and  that 
was  to  be  going  home  without  money,  after  such 
a  long  stay  in  a  new  country.  For  every  man  thinks 
that  fortunes  are  more  easily  made  in  other  lands 
than  his  own,  and  I  knew  that  people  would  expect 
me  to  be  in  possession  of  ranches,  flourishing  towns 
and  gold  mines;  and  I  felt  much  shame  in  having 
to  admit  that  I  had  returned  poorer  than  ever.  Had 
it  not  been  for  the  money  saved  during  my  absence, 
which  had  not  been  convenient  for  use,  this  thought 
had  been  likely  to  prevent  my  return  for  some  years 
longer,  perhaps  for  my  whole  life.  On  the  tenth 
day  we  were  passing  Ireland,  on  which  I  gazed  with 
deep  feeling,  taking  her  to  my  heart  as  a  sister  isle, 
knowing  at  the  same  time  that  her  heart  was  her 
distressful  own.  When  I  reached  Liverpool,  and 
the  cattle  had  gone  ashore,  I  received  my  pay,  and, 
slipping  away  from  the  other  cattlemen,  went  alone 
up  town,  made  a  few  purchases  in  the  way  of  clothes, 
and  arrived  at  the  railway  station  with  three  shillings 
and  a  few  coppers  over  my  fare.  With  this  insig- 
nificant amount,  the  result  of  five  years  in  a  rich 

[165] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

country,  and  something  like  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  standing  to  my  account,  I  arrived  that  even- 
ing at  my  native  town. 

Here  I  wandered  lost  for  several  hours,  making 
enquiries  for  my  people,  who,  during  my  stay  abroad, 
had  moved  from  the  place  I  knew.  I  had  just  made 
up  my  mind  to  seek  a  favourite  aunt  of  mine,  who, 
previous  to  my  leaving  England,  had  been  a  number 
of  years  in  one  house,  and  did  not  then  seem  likely 
to  leave,  when  a  strange  woman  in  the  street  where  I 
was  making  enquiries,  recognised  me  by  my  like- 
ness to  mother,  and  at  once  directed  me  to  her  place. 
I  knocked  on  the  door  and  mother,  who  always  was 
and  is  full  of  premonitions,  and  is  very  superstitious 
in  the  way  of  signs  and  dreams,  opened  the  door 
at  once,  knew  who  I  was  in  the  dark,  though  we 
could  not  see  much  of  each  other's  form  or  face, 
and,  to  my  surprise,  called  me  by  name.  "That's 
me,  mother,"  I  said.  "Yes,"  she  answered,  "I 
thought  it  was  your  knock,"  just  as  though  I  had 
only  been  out  for  an  evening's  stroll.  She  said  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  that  they  had  all  given 
me  up  for  dead,  except  herself,  and  that  she  had 
also,  three  years  before,  given  up  all  hopes  of  seeing 
me  again,  having  had  a  dream  wherein  she  saw  me 
beat  about  the  head  and  lying  bloody  at  the  feet  of 
strangers.  She  mentioned  the  year,  and  even  the 
month  of  this  year,  and  a  little  consideration  on  my 
part  placed  its  date  with  that  of  the  outrage  at 

[166] 


Home 

New  Orleans,  but  I  did  not  then  trouble  her  with 
an  account  of  this. 

When  I  was  very  small  an  aunt  took  me  to  live 
with  her  for  a  couple  or  more  months  in  a  small 
town  in  Gloucestershire,  a  county  in  which  mother 
had  never  been.  But  she  had  a  dream  in  which 
she  saw  me  leaving  the  house  with  my  uncle's 
dinner,  and  that  I  had  to  follow  the  canal  bank  to 
his  works.  She  saw  me  returning  that  same  way, 
and,  beginning  to  play  near  the  water,  fall  in  head 
first,  she,  in  her  dream,  just  reaching  the  spot  in 
time  to  save  me.  Early  the  following  morning, 
after  this  dream,  mother  came  by  train  to  this  vil- 
lage, walked  the  canal  bank  to  my  aunt's  house, 
without  enquiring  its  whereabouts,  and  demanded 
her  son  before  he  was  drowned.  There  was  certainly 
a  possibility  of  this  happening,  for  I  was  very  small 
at  that  time,  and  the  canal  was  deep.  She  had 
never  before  been  in  this  place,  but  the  locality 
seemed  to  be  well-known  to  her  as  it  was  seen  in  her 
sleep. 


[167] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OFF    AGAIN 

OF  course  at  this  homecoming  I  vowed  that  I 
would  never  again  leave  my  native  town. 
True,  I  found  great  difficulty  in  sleeping  on 
a  soft  bed,  and  lay  awake  several  hours  through  the 
night,  tossing  and  turning  from  one  side  to  another. 
The  food  itself  did  not  seem  so  palatable  coming 
out  of  clean  pots  and  shining  ovens,  as  that  which 
was  cooked  in  close  contact  with  the  embers,  and 
in  the  smoke  and  blaze  of  a  camp  fire.  The  un- 
plucked  chicken,  covered  with  a  thick  crust  of  mud 
and  baked  under  a  pile  of  hot  ashes,  after  which 
the  hard  crust  could  be  broken  to  show  the  chicken 
inside  as  clean  as  a  new  born  babe,  with  all  its 
feathers  and  down  stuck  hard  in  the  mud — this 
meat  to  me  was  far  more  tasty  than  that  one  at 
home,  that  was  plucked  and  gutted  with  care,  and 
roasted  or  baked  to  a  supposed  nicety.  This  food 
of  civilisation  certainly  seemed  to  suffer  from  a 
lack  of  good  wholesome  dirt,  and  I  should  like  to 
have  had  my  own  wood  fire  at  the  end  of  the  back- 
yard, were  it  not  for  shame. 

[168] 


Off  Again 

For  several  weeks  I  walked  the  streets,  renewing 
old  acquaintance,  accosted  here  and  there  by  my 
old  school-mates.  Most  of  them  were  married, 
but  married  or  single,  they  all  seemed  to  be  poor 
and  unsuccessful.  I  began  to  drink  immoderately 
at  this  time,  meeting  one  and  the  other,  and  very 
soon  began  to  realise  that  my  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  were  going  at  the  rate  of  a  sovereign  a  day. 
Scarcely  had  I  been  home  one  month,  when,  to 
escape  from  so  much  drink,  I  made  a  trip  to  Bor- 
deaux, on  one  of  the  local  steamers.  But  it  was 
of  no  use:  for  I  saw  the  time  coming  when  I  would 
again  be  without  prospects.  I  had  not  worked  at 
my  trade  since  leaving  Bristol,  six  years  before, 
and  had  no  intention  of  doing  so  again.  The  fever 
of  restlessness  that  had  governed  me  in  the  past, 
broke  out  afresh,  and  after  two  months  of  this  idle 
life,  I  suddenly  made  a  pretence  of  being  filled  with 
a  desire  for  business,  saying  it  was  my  intention  to 
open  a  bookshop  in  London,  and  as  soon  as  possible, 
which  I  have  often  had  thoughts  of  doing.  With 
this  end  in  view,  I  drew  the  remainder  of  my  money, 
which  in  two  months  had  dwindled  by  a  half, 
divided  a  few  pounds  among  the  family,  and  took 
train  for  London.  "Yes,"  I  repeated  to  myself, 
several  times  on  this  journey,  "I  will  open 
a  bookshop  and  settle  down  to  a  quiet  life  of 
study,  for  which  there  will  be  ample  time  during 
the   intervals   of  business."     In   London   I   saw   a 

[169] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

number  of  vacant  shops  that  would  have  answered 
the  purpose,  but  unfortunately,  I  had  not  the  least 
notion  of  how  or  where  to  obtain  books,  the  greater 
part  of  which  were  to  be  second-hand.  If,  when  on 
this  quest,  I  could  have  bought  a  bookshop  ready 
fitted  and  filled,  no  doubt  I  would  have  closed  with 
the  offer  at  once,  and  settled  quietly  down.  Not 
seeing  any  way  out  of  this  difficulty,  I  continued 
my  rambles  through  the  city,  day  after  day,  invari- 
ably visiting  the  theatre  at  night.  This  happened 
for  over  a  week,  and  the  money  was  still  going  out 
and  none  coming  in,  and  poverty  never  appeared 
worse  to  me  than  at  that  time. 

One  afternoon,  when  passing  through  Trafalgar 
Square,  I  bought  an  early  edition  of  an  evening 
paper,  and  the  first  paragraph  that  met  my  eye 
had  this  very  attractive  heading — "A  Land  of 
Gold."  It  was  a  description  of  the  Klondyke,  and 
a  glowing  account  of  the  many  good  fortunes  that 
daily  fell  to  the  lot  of  hardy  adventurers.  It  would 
cost  me  sixty  pounds,  or  more,  to  travel  to  that 
remote  part  of  the  world,  and  forty-four  pounds 
were  all  I  now  possessed.  This  thought  did  not  for 
long  discourage  me  from  making  the  attempt.  I 
knew  that  I  could  beat  my  way  across  the  Canadian 
continent,  without  using  a  cent  for  travelling,  and 
I  could  save  these  few  pounds  for  food,  and  cases 
in  which  payment  would  be  absolutely  necessary, 

[170] 


Off  Again 

when  forced  to  travel  on  foot,  at  the  other  end  of 
Canada. 

That  night  I  exchanged  thirty  pounds  for  their 
equivalent  in  paper  dollars,  placing  the  latter  in 
a  belt  which  I  wore  next  to  my  skin,  determined 
that  this  money  should  not  see  the  light  until  my 
journey  was  nearly  done. 

It  was  now  the  month  of  March,  and  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  St.  Lawrence  had  not  yet  opened,  so 
that  I  would  be  compelled  to  beat  my  way  from 
Halifax,  or  St.  John's,  to  Montreal,  which  would  not 
be  necessary  later  in  the  Spring,  when  the  latter  port 
would  be  the  destination  of  all  emigrant  ships.  I 
was  very  happy  at  this  time,  with  these  prospects 
in  view,  which  were  really  too  bright  to  decoy  any 
man  who  had  an  average  amount  of  common-sense. 
My  conception  of  that  wonderful  land,  for  all  my 
travels,  was  childish  in  the  extreme.  I  thought 
the  rocks  were  of  solid  gold,  which  so  dazzled  the 
sun  that  he  could  not  concentrate  his  glance  on  any 
particular  part,  and  that  his  eye  went  swimming 
all  day  in  a  haze.  I  pictured  men  in  possession  of 
caves  sitting  helpless  in  the  midst  of  accumulated 
nuggets,  puzzled  as  to  how  to  convey  all  this  wealth 
to  the  marts  of  civilisation.  What  I  wanted  with 
all  these  riches  I  cannot  say,  for  it  was  never  a 
desire  of  mine  to  possess  jewellery,  fine  raiment, 
yachts,  castles  or  horses:  all  I  desired  was  a  small 

[171] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

house  of  my  own,  and  leisure  for  study.  In  fact 
I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  waste  time  in  hoarding 
more  wealth  than  would  be  necessary  to  these 
small  comforts,  but  to  return  home  satisfied  with 
a  sum  not  exceeding  two  thousand  pounds,  the 
interest  from  which  would,  I  thought,  be  ample  for 
any  student  who  remained  true  to  his  aims,  and 
was  sincere  in  his  love  for  literature. 

In  this  month  of  March,  the  first  day  in  the  second 
week,  I  left  Euston  Station  at  midnight,  and  arrived 
cold  and  shaking  in  Liverpool,  early  the  next  morn- 
ing. On  making  enquiries,  I  learnt  that  a  ship  was 
leaving  for  St.  John's  on  the  following  Wednesday, 
from  which  place  emigrants  must  needs  go  by  train 
to  Quebec  or  Montreal,  owing  to  the  ice-bound 
condition  of  the  river.  I  decided  on  making  St. 
John's  my  destination,  from  which  port  I  would 
beat  my  way  towards  the  west,  going  easy  at  first, 
and  faster  as  the  spring  of  the  year  advanced. 

The  accommodation  for  steerage  passengers  on 
this  ship  was  abominable,  and  their  comfort  seemed 
to  be  not  in  the  least  considered.  This  was  owing 
to  the  small  number  of  English  speaking  people  that 
were  travelling  as  steerage  passengers,  and  the 
disgusting,  filthy  habits  of  the  great  majority,  who 
were  a  low  class  of  Jews  and  peasantry  from  the 
interior  of  Russia.  None  of  the  ship's  crews  could 
be  expected  to  treat  these  people  as  one  of  them- 
selves, seeing  them  sit  to  eat  in  the  filth  of  their 

[172] 


Off  Again 

skin  and  fur  clothes,  without  the  least  thought  of 
washing;  and  again,  hiding  food  in  their  bed  clothes, 
making  the  cabin  too  foul  to  sleep  in.  After  seeing 
the  first  meal  fought  for,  and  scrambled  for  on  the 
steerage  floor,  where  it  had  fallen,  we  Englishmen, 
five  in  number,  took  possession  of  a  small  table  to 
ourselves,  only  allowing  one  other,  a  Frenchman, 
to  sit  with  us.  This  did  not  succeed  without  some 
protest.  On  the  second  day  out,  when  we  went 
below  for  our  mid-day  meal,  we  found  the  table  to 
be  already  occupied  by  these  people,  who  maintained 
our  seats,  looking  defiantly  at  us  to  show  that  they 
had  taken  no  accidental  possession  of  the  same. 
It  was  owing  to  these  defiant  looks  that  we  deter- 
mined to  re-possess  this  table.  "Stick  close  to- 
gether," said  a  young  Englishman,  who  was  a  black- 
smith, with  the  accredited  brawny  arms.  Saying 
which  he  caught  one  of  the  usurpers  in  his  arms, 
and  with  great  force  threw  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  people,  knocking  several  of  them  down.  There 
was  great  commotion  at  this.  Two  hundred  of 
these  haters  of  soap  and  water  began  to  jabber  and 
wildly  gesticulate,  and  no  doubt  every  foul  word 
in  that  unknown  tongue  was  used  against  us.  In- 
stead of  seating  ourselves  at  once  at  the  table, 
which  was  now  unoccupied,  we  stood  in  our  small 
body  waiting  with  a  quiet  determination  which 
did  not  seem  at  all  to  their  relish.  This  attitude 
conquered  them;  and,  as  none  of  us  were  quarrel- 

[173] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

some,  and  did  not  again  in  any  way  interfere  with 
them,  either  on  deck  or  below,  the  trip  was  ended 
without  any  further  trouble. 

So  many  of  these  aliens  were  landing  in  Canada 
at  this  time,  that  when  I  approached  the  Custom 
House  officers,  one  of  them,  judging  by  my  features 
and  complexion,  which  were  not  much  unlike  those 
of  a  native  of  the  south,  addressed  me  in  an  un- 
known tongue.  I  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  which 
made  him  repeat  his  question,  probably  in  another 
tongue,  equally  unknown.  Being  rather  incensed 
at  this,  and  flushing  indignantly  at  this  tone  to  a 
dog,  I  lost  no  time  in  answering  him  according  to 
Billingsgate.  "Ho,  hoi"  he  laughed,  "so  you  are 
a  blooming  cockney,  and  so  am  I.  Why  didn't  you 
say  so  at  once  9" 

The  blacksmith  had  booked  through  to  Quebec, 
and  would  take  train  to  that  place  before  morning. 
Three  other  Englishmen  had  booked  through  to 
Winnipeg,  and  would  travel  with  him  by  the  same 
train.  The  other  Englishman,  a  carpenter  by  trade, 
had  relatives  in  Montreal,  and,  having  only  a  couple 
of  dollars  in  his  possession,  was  willing  to  take  in- 
structions from  me  how  to  get  there.  I  promised  to 
get  this  man  to  Montreal  in  three  or  four  days, 
providing  he  did  not  at  any  time  question  my  actions. 
He  kept  his  promise  and  I  kept  mine,  for  on  the 
fourth  day  after  landing,  I  wished  him  good-bye 
outside  his  sister's  house,  which  he  had  had  some 

fi74] 


Off  Again 

difficulty  in  finding.  I  was  now  alone,  and  seeking 
a  companion  for  my  journey  west. 

Now,  once  upon  a  time,  there  lived  a  man  known 
by  the  name  of  Joe  Beef,  who  kept  a  saloon  in 
Montreal,  supplying  his  customers  with  a  good  free 
lunch  all  day,  and  a  hot  beef  stew  being  the  mid- 
day dish.  There  was  not  a  tramp  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  North  American  Con- 
tinent, who  had  not  heard  of  this  and  a  goodly 
number  had  at  one  time  or  another  patronised  his 
establishment.  Often  had  I  heard  of  this  famous 
hostelry  for  the  poor  and  needy,  and  the  flavour  of 
its  stew  discussed  by  old  travellers  in  the  far  States 
of  the  South.  When  I  thought  of  this,  I  knew  that 
a  companion  for  any  part  of  America  could  most 
certainly  be  found  on  this  man's  premises,  and  I 
would  there  hear  much  valuable  information  as  to 
the  road  I  was  about  to  travel.  So  I  went  strolling 
along  quietly,  intending  to  wait  until  I  met  some 
needy  looking  individual  before  I  made  enquiries. 
Now,  whenever  Joe  Beef's  name  had  been  mentioned 
it  had  invariably  led  to  the  mention  of  French  Marie, 
and  the  name  of  the  latter  as  invariably  introduced 
the  name  of  Joe  Beef,  for  these  two  establishments 
seemed  to  be  patronised  by  the  same  class.  These 
names  were  well-known  to  me,  for,  as  I  have  said, 
their  fame  was  abroad  throughout  America. 

I  was  strolling  along  with  these  thoughts,  when 
I  met  the  man  of  my  desire,  leaning  lazily  against 

[175] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

a  post.  Not  wishing  to  accost  him  outright,  and 
yet  eager  for  his  conversation,  I  stood  beside  him 
lighting  my  pipe,  striking  several  matches  for  this 
purpose  and  failing,  owing  to  the  wind  blowing  in 
small  gusts.  Seeing  my  dilemma,  the  man  quickly 
produced  matches  of  his  own,  and  striking  one, 
held  it  lighted  between  the  palms  of  his  hands, 
leaving  just  enough  space  for  the  bowl  of  my  pipe 
to  enter.  For  this  I  thanked  him,  and  secondly, 
invited  him  to  a  drink,  asking  him  where  we  should 
go,  being  in  hopes  he  would  mention  Joe  Beef. 
"Well,"  he  answered,  pointing  to  the  opposite 
corner,  "the  nearest  place  is  French  Marie's," 
We  entered  that  place  and,  in  the  course  of  con- 
versation, I  told  him  how  I  had  beat  my  way  from 
state  to  state,  but  that  this  was  my  first  experience 
in  Canada.  "The  United  States,"  said  this  man 
sagely,  "are  nearly  played  out,  and  of  late  years 
there  are  far  too  many  travellers  there.  You  will 
find  the  Canadian  roads  better  to  beat,  and  the 
people's  hearts  easier  to  impress,  for  they  are  not 
overrun.  When  did  you  get  here'?"  Knowing  that 
this  man  was  under  the  impression  that  I  had  just 
beat  my  way  into  Canada  from  the  States,  and 
not  willing  to  undeceive  him,  I  answered  quickly 
"This  morning,"  and  for  a  time  changed  the  con- 
versation into  a  praise  of  the  beer.  "Where  are 
you  going  to  sleep?"  he  asked.  "Meet  me  here 
in  half  an  hour,  after  I  have  begged  the  price  of  mv 

[176] 


Off  Again 

bed,  and  a  drink  or  two — and  we  will  both  go  to 
Joe  Beef's,  where  I  have  been  for  this  last  week." 
Not  wishing  to  lose  sight  of  this  man,  I  told  him 
that  my  pocket  could  maintain  the  two  of  us  until 
the  next  day.  "All  right,"  said  he,  appearing 
much  relieved,  "we  will  go  at  once  and  settle  for 
our  beds,  and  come  out  for  an  hour  or  so  this 
evening."  Leaving  French  Marie's  we  walked  be- 
side the  river  for  some  distance,  when  my  companion 
halted  before  a  building,  which  I  knew  must  be 
Joe  Beef's,  having  just  seen  two  seedy  looking 
travellers  entering.  We  followed,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise, I  saw  it  was  a  rather  clean  looking  restaurant 
with  several  long  tables,  with  seats  and  a  long  bar 
on  which  the  food  was  served.  But  what  surprised 
me  most  was  to  see  a  number  of  Salvation  Army 
men  and  officers  in  charge  of  this  place.  Without 
saying  a  word  to  my  companion,  I  took  a  seat  at 
one  of  the  tables,  to  order  a  beef  stew,  asking  him 
what  he  would  have,  and,  for  his  sake,  the  order  was 
doubled.  "When  Joe  Beef  kept  this  place,"  whis- 
pered my  companion,  "he  was  a  true  friend  to  trav- 
ellers, but  you  don't  get  much  out  of  these  people 
except  you  pay  for  it  I"  Although  I  winked  at  him, 
as  though  the  same  thoughts  were  mine,  I  noticed 
that  the  meals  were  well  worth  what  was  charged 
for  them,  and,  in  after  days,  I  often  compared  this 
place  favourably  with  similar  institutions  in  London, 
that  were  under  the  same  management,  and  where 
men  did  not  get  the  worth  of  their  money. 

['77] 


A 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A    VOICE    IN    THE    DARK 

T  this  place  I  remained  several  weeks,  watch- 
ing the  smiling  Spring,  which  had  already 

taken  possession  of  the  air  and  made  the 

skies  blue — unloosing  the  icy  fingers  of  Winter, 
which  still  held  the  earth  down  under  a  thick  cover 
of  snow.  What  a  glorious  time  of  the  year  is  this ! 
With  the  warm  sun  travelling  through  serene  skies, 
the  air  clear  and  fresh  above  you,  which  instils  new 
blood  in  the  body,  making  one  defiantly  tramp  the 
earth,  kicking  the  snows  aside  in  the  scorn  of  action. 
The  cheeks  glow  with  health,  the  lips  smile,  and  there 
is  no  careworn  face  seen,  save  they  come  out  of  the 
house  of  sickness  of  death.  And  that  lean  spectre, 
called  Hunger,  has  never  been  known  to  appear  in 
these  parts.  If  it  was  for  one  moment  supposed 
that  such  a  spectre  possessed  a  house  in  this  country, 
kind  hearts  would  at  once  storm  the  place  with  such 
an  abundance  of  good  things  that  the  spectre's 
victim  would  need  to  exert  great  care  and  power  of 
will,  if  he  would  not  succumb  to  an  overloaded 
stomach.     This  spectre  is  often  seen  in  the  over- 

[■78] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

crowded  cities  of  Europe,  and  one  of  its  favourite 
haunts  is  the  Thames  Embankment,  in  front  of  the 
fine  hotels  where  ambassadors  and  millionaires 
dine  sumptuously.  Where  they  sit  or  stand  at 
their  windows  watching  the  many  lights  of  the  city, 
and  to  see  the  moon  dipping  her  silver  pitcher  in 
the  dark  river,  and  they  swear,  by  Jove  I  it  is 
worth  seeing.  But  they  cannot  see  this  spectre  of 
Hunger,  moving  slowly,  and  sometimes  painfully, 
from  shadow  to  shadow,  shivering  and  anxious  for 
the  sun,  for  they  have  no  other  fire  to  sit  before, 
to  make  their  dreams  of  the  past  pleasant. 

I  remained  three  weeks  in  this  inexpensive  hotel, 
and  decided  to  travel  on  the  following  Monday, 
although  the  snow  was  still  deep  in  Montreal,  and 
would  be  yet  deeper  in  the-  country.  I  had  a  small 
room  for  sleeping  purposes,  at  a  cost  of  fifteen  cents 
per  night.  There  were  several  others  of  the  same 
kind,  each  divided  one  from  the  other  by  a  thin 
wooden  partition,  which  was  high  enough  for 
privacy,  but  did  not  prevent  curious  lodgers  from 
standing  tip  toe  on  their  beds,  and  peering  into 
another's  room.  Going  to  bed  early  on  Sunday 
night,  previous  to  continuing  my  journey  on  the 
following  day,  I  was  somewhat  startled  on  entering 
my  room,  to  hear  a  gentle  rap  on  the  partition 
which  divided  my  room  from  the  next.  "Hallo  I" 
I  cried,  "what  do  you  want^"  The  man's  wants, 
it  seemed,  were  private,  for  he  seemed  frightened 

[■79] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

into  silence  at  this  loud  tone  of  demand,  which 
would  most  certainly  draw  the  attention  of  others. 
At  last  he  cleared  his  throat  by  a  forced  fit  of 
coughing,  and  then  whispered,  in  a  low  distinct 
voice — "I  want  a  match,  if  you  can  oblige  me  with 
one."  Of  course,  smoking  was  not  allowed  in  the 
bed-rooms,  but  in  this  respect  we  were  nearly  all 
breakers  of  the  law.  Taking  a  few  matches  from 
my  pocket,  I  threw  them  over  the  partition,  and 
heard  him  feeling  in  the  semi-darkness,  after  hearing 
the  sound  of  them  falling.  Then  he  gently  struck 
one,  and,  by  its  light,  gathered  in  the  others.  In 
a  moment  or  two  he  addressed  me  in  his  natural 
voice,  and,  to  my  surprise,  it  sounded  familiar, 
and  filled  me  with  curiosity  to  see  this  man's  face. 
I  encouraged  him  to  talk — which  he  seemed  deter- 
mined to  do — thinking  a  word  might  reveal  him  to 
me,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  we  had  met. 
His  voice  in  the  dark  puzzled  me,  and  I  could  not 
for  my  life  locate  it.  A  hundred  scenes  passed 
through  my  memory,  some  of  them  containing  a 
number  of  characters.  In  my  fancy  I  made  them 
all  speak  to  me,  before  dismissing  them  again  to 
the  dim  regions  from  which  they  had  been  sum- 
moned, but  not  one  of  their  voices  corresponded 
with  this  voice  heard  in  the  dark.  Above  this 
voice  I  placed  thin  and  thick  moustaches,  black, 
grey,  brown,  red,  and  white;  under  this  voice  I 
put  heavy  and  light  beards  of  various  hues,   and 

[180] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

still,  out  of  all  my  material,  failed  to  make  a  familiar 
face.  Still  sending  Memory  forth  in  quest  of  the 
owner  of  this  voice,  and  she,  poor  thing  I  bringing 
forward  smiling  men  and  stern  men,  thin  men  and 
fat  men,  short  men  and  tall  men,  tame  men  and 
wild  men,  hairy  men  and  bald  men,  dark  men  and 
fair  men — until  she  became  so  confused  as  to  bring 
back  the  same  people  the  second  time;  still  sending 
her  forth  on  this  vain  quest,  I  fell  asleep. 

It  was  a  dreamless  sleep;  no  sound  broke  its 
stillness,  and  no  face  looked  into  its  depths;  and, 
when  I  awoke  the  next  morning,  this  voice  seemed 
to  be  already  in  possession  of  my  thoughts.  I  lay 
awake  for  about  ten  minutes,  and  was  just  on  the 
point  of  rising,  thinking  the  man  had  left  his  cham- 
ber, when  I  heard  a  stir  coming  from  that  direction. 
He  was  now  dressing.  Following  his  example, 
but  with  more  haste,  so  as  to  be  the  first  ready, 
I  waited  the  unbolting  of  his  door,  so  that  I  might 
meet  this  man  face  to  face.  I  unbolted  my  own 
door,  and  opened  it  when  I  was  but  half  dressed, 
but  there  was  no  necessity  for  doing  this,  for  my 
arms  were  in  the  sleeves  of  my  coat  when  his  bolt 
was  slipped  back,  and  we  simultaneously  appeared, 
at  the  same  time  wishing  each  other  good  morning. 
I  recognised  this  man  without  difficulty,  but  ap- 
parently had  the  advantage  of  him.  To  make  no 
mistake,  I  looked  at  his  right  hand,  and  saw  the 
two  fingers  missing,   knowing  him   for  a  certainty 

[i8i] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

to  be  Three  Fingered  Jack,  who  had  been  a  cattle- 
man from  Montreal,  whom  I  had  met  in  Glasgow 
when  I  had  gone  there  from  Baltimore,  three  years 
previous  to  this.  On  that  occasion  I  had  been  in 
this  man's  company  for  only  half  an  hour,  and 
since  that  time  had  heard  thousands  of  voices,  but 
was  still  positive  that  I  had  heard  this  voice  before. 

We  stood  side  by  side  washing,  and  preparing  for 
breakfast,  and,  although  I  remained  a  stranger  to 
him,  as  far  as  former  acquaintance  was  concerned, 
I  mentioned  to  him  in  confidence  that  I  was  going 
west  that  very  morning,  after  breakfast.  "So 
was  I,"  he  said,  "as  far  as  Winnipeg,  but  thought 
to  wait  until  some  of  this  snow  cleared.  Anyhow, 
as  a  day  or  two  makes  little  difference,  we  will,  if 
you  are  agreeable,  start  together  this  morning. 
I  know  the  country  well,"  he  continued,  "between 
Montreal  and  Winnipeg,  having  travelled  it  a 
number  of  times,  and,  I  promise  you,  nothing  shall 
be  wanting  on  the  way." 

This  man  had  lost  his  two  fingers  at  work  in  the 
cotton  mills,  some  ten  years  before,  and  ever  since 
then  had  been  living  in  idleness,  with  the  exception 
of  two  or  three  trips  he  had  made  as  a  cattleman. 
Certainly  he  lived  well  on  the  kindness  of  these 
people,  as  any  able  bodied  man  might  do  in 
this  country,  without  being  in  any  way  afflicted. 
Though  he  was  going  to  Winnipeg,  he  was  in  no 
hurry,  had  no  object  in  view,  and  had  not  the  least' 

[182] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

idea  of  where  that  town  would  lead  him,  and  he 
soon  tired  of  one  place. 

Three  Fingered  Jack  was  a  slow  traveller  for,  as 
he  with  some  emotion  said — "It  broke  his  heart 
to  hurry  and  pass  through  good  towns  whose  in- 
habitants were  all  the  happier  for  being  called  on 
by  needy  men."  This  slow  travelling  suited  me 
for  the  time  being,  for  we  were  having  another  fall 
of  snow,  and  I  half  regretted  having  left  Montreal, 
although,  day  after  day  I  was  certainly  getting  a 
little  nearer  to  the  gold  of  Klondyke.  But  I  deter- 
mined to  shake  off  this  slow  companion  on  the  first 
approach  of  fine  weather. 

We  loafed  all  day  in  the  different  railway  stations, 
in  each  of  which  was  kept  a  warm  comfortable  room 
for  the  convenience  of  passengers.  Although  we 
were  passengers  of  another  sort,  and  stole  rides  on 
the  trains  without  a  fraction  of  payment  to  the 
company,  we  boldly  made  ourselves  at  home  in 
these  places,  being  mistaken  for  respectable  travel- 
lers, who  were  enjoying  the  comforts  for  which  we 
paid.  Sometimes  a  station  master  would  look 
hard  on  us,  suspecting  us  for  what  we  were,  but  he 
was  very  diffident  about  risking  a  question,  however 
much  he  was  displeased  at  seeing  us  in  comfortable 
possession  of  the  seats  nearest  to  the  stoves.  To- 
wards evening  we  made  application  for  lodgings  at 
the  local  jail,  at  which  place  we  would  be  accom- 
modated until  the  following  morning.     I  was  now 

[183] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

without  money,  with  the  exception  of  that  which 
was  concealed  and  reserved  for  the  most  hazardous 
part  of  the  journey,  which  would  be  its  western 
end.  Now,  in  all  these  jails  we  were  searched  and 
examined  before  being  admitted  for  a  night's  shel- 
ter, but  often  in  a  very  indifferent  manner.  One 
night  we  arrived  at  a  small  town  where  a  double 
hanging  was  to  take  place  in  the  yard  of  the  jail 
early  the  next  morning.  A  woman,  it  seems,  had 
called  on  her  lover  to  assist  in  the  murder  of  her 
husband,  which  had  been  brutally  done  with  an 
axe,  for  which  crime  both  had  been  pronounced 
guilty  and  condemned  to  die.  Thousands  of  people 
had  flocked  in  from  the  neighbouring  country, 
which  in  this  province  of  Ontario  was  thickly  settled, 
and  a  large  number  of  plain  clothes  detectives  had 
been  dispatched  from  the  cities,  there  being  sup- 
posed some  attempt  might  be  made  at  rescue, 
owing  to  one  of  the  condemned  being  a  woman. 
We  arrived  at  this  town  early  in  the  afternoon,  and 
were  surprised  at  the  unusual  bustle  and  the  many 
groups  of  people  assembled  in  the  main  thorough- 
fares. Thinking  the  town  contained,  or  expected, 
some  attraction  in  the  way  of  a  circus  or  menagerie, 
we  expressed  little  curiosity,  but  returned  at  once 
to  the  railway  station,  intending  to  possess  its  most 
comfortable  seats  against  all  comers,  until  the  ap- 
proach of  darkness,  when  we  would  then  make 
application  at  the  jail  for  our  night's  accommoda- 

[184] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

tion.  When  this  time  came,  we  marched  straight 
to  the  jail,  and  boldly  hammered  its  door  for  ad- 
mittance. It  was  at  once  answered  by  a  police 
officer,  to  whom  we  explained  our  wants,  and  he, 
without  much  ado,  invited  us  indoors.  Expecting 
the  usual  questions,  and  being  prepared  with  the 
usual  answers — expecting  the  usual  indifferent 
search,  and  having  pipe,  tobacco  and  matches  artfully 
concealed  in  our  stockings — we  were  somewhat  taken 
by  surprise  to  find  a  large  number  of  officers,  who 
all  seemed  to  show  an  uncommon  interest  in  our 
appearance^  The  officer,  who  was  examining  us 
previous  to  making  us  comfortable  for  the  night, 
had  finished  this  part  of  the  business  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  when  one  of  these  detectives  stepped 
forward,  and  said — "We  cannot  admit  strangers 
to  the  jail  on  the  present  occasion,  so  that  you  had 
better  make  them  out  an  order  for  the  hotel."  This 
order  was  then  given  to  us,  and  we  immediately  left 
the  jail;  and  it  was  then,  curious  to  know  the  rea- 
son for  this  action,  that  we  soon  made  ourselves  ac- 
quainted with  the  true  facts  of  the  case.  When 
we  arrived  at  the  hotel,  we  were  informed  that  every 
bed  had  been  taken  since  morning,  and  that,  as  it 
was,  a  number  of  men  would  be  compelled  to  sit 
all  night  dozing  in  their  chairs,  and  it  was  with  this 
information  that  we  returned  to  the  jail.  For  the 
second  time  we  were  admitted,  and  were  advised  to 
walk  to  the  next  town.     This,  Three  Fingered  Jack 

[185] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

absolutely  refused  to  do,  saying  that  his  feet  were 
too  blistered  and  sore  to  carry  him  another  hundred 
yards.  All  these  detectives  then  got  together,  and, 
after  a  rather  lengthy  consultation,  one  of  them 
came  forward  and,  after  plying  us  with  a  number 
of  questions,  proceeded  to  examine  our  clothes,  and 
that  so  thoroughly  that  I  feared  for  the  result.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  search,  I  gave  him  my  razor, 
a  small  penknife,  my  pocket-handkerchief  and  a 
comb,  but  he  was  not  satisfied  until  his  hands  were 
down  in  my  stockings,  and  bringing  up  first  my  pipe, 
then  my  tobacco,  and  lastly  the  matches.  What 
worried  me  most  was  the  belt  next  to  my  body,  which 
contained  my  money.  I  had  not  much  fear  of  Three 
Fingered  Jack,  when  confronting  each  other  openly, 
though  he  was  a  tall  active  man,  but  had  he  known 
of  these  dollars,  I  had  not  dared  in  his  presence  to 
have  closed  my  eyes,  believing  that  he  would  have 
battered  out  my  brains  with  a  stone,  wooden  stake 
or  iron  bar,  so  that  he  might  possess  himself  of  this 
amount.  This  detective  certainly  discovered  the 
belt,  and  felt  it  carefully,  but  the  money  being  in 
paper,  and  no  coin  or  hard  substance  being  therein, 
he  apparently  was  none  the  wiser  for  its  contents. 
At  last  this  severe  examination  was  at  an  end,  and 
we  were  both  led  through  an  iron  corridor  and  placed 
in  a  cell,  the  door  of  which  was  carefully  locked.  I 
don't  believe  we  slept  one  moment  during  that  night 
but  what  we  were  overlooked  by  a  pair,  or  several 

[186] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

pairs  of  shrewd  eyes.  They  could  not  believe  but 
that  we  were  other  to  what  we  pretended,  and  had 
come  there  with  designs  to  thwart  the  ends  of  justice. 
Next  morning  our  things  were  returned  to  us,  and  we 
were  turned  adrift  at  a  cold  hour  that  was  far  earlier 
than  on  ordinary  occasions. 

The  snow  was  still  deep  and  the  mornings  and 
evenings  cold  when,  a  week  after  this,  we  reached 
Ottawa.  This  slow  travelling  was  not  at  all  to  my 
liking,  and  I  often  persuaded  my  companion  to 
make  more  haste  towards  Winnipeg.  This  he  agreed 
to  do;  so  the  next  morning  we  jumped  a  freight  train, 
determined  to  hold  it  for  the  whole  day.  Unfortu- 
nately it  was  simply  a  local  train,  and  being  very 
slow,  having  to  stop  on  the  way  at  every  insignificant 
little  station,  we  left  it,  at  a  town  called  Renfrew, 
intending  that  night  to  beat  a  fast  overland  pas- 
senger train,  which  would  convey  us  four  or  five 
hundred  miles  before  daybreak.  With  this  object 
we  sat  in  the  station's  waiting-room  until  evening, 
and  then,  some  twenty  minutes  before  the  train  be- 
came due,  we  slipped  out  unobserved  and  took  pos- 
session of  an  empty  car,  stationary  some  distance 
away,  from  which  place  we  could  see  the  train  com- 
ing, and  yet  be  unseen  from  the  station's  platform. 
This  train  would  soon  arrive,  for  passengers  were 
already  pacing  the  platform,  the  luggage  was  placed 
in  readiness,  and  a  number  of  curious  people,  having 
nothing  else  to  do,  had  assembled  here  to  see  the 

[1871 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

coming  and  going  of  the  train.  At  last  we  heard 
its  whistle,  and,  looking  out,  we  saw  the  headlight  in 
the  distance,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  It  steamed 
into  the  station  without  making  much  noise,  for  the 
rails  were  slippery,  there  still  being  much  ice  and 
snow  on  the  track.  "Come,"  I  said  to  Jack,  "there 
is  no  time  to  lose;"  and  we  quickly  jumped  out  of 
the  empty  car. 

This  fast  passenger  train  carried  a  blind  baggage 
car,  which  means  that  the  end  nearest  to  the  engine 
was  blind  in  having  no  door.  Our  object  was  to 
suddenly  appear  from  a  hiding  place,  darkness  being 
favourable,  and  leap  on  the  step  of  this  car,  and 
from  that  place  to  the  platform;  this  being  done 
when  the  train  was  in  motion,  knowing  that  the 
conductor,  who  was  always  on  the  watch  for  such 
doings,  rarely  stopped  the  train  to  put  men  off,  even 
when  sure  of  their  presence.  If  he  saw  us  before 
the  train  started,  he  would  certainly  take  means  to 
prevent  us  from  riding.  When  we  had  once  taken 
possession  of  this  car,  no  man  could  approach  us 
until  we  reached  the  next  stopping  place,  which 
would  probably  be  fifty  miles,  or  much  more.  At 
that  place  we  would  dismount,  conceal  ourselves, 
and,  when  it  was  again  in  motion,  make  another 
leap  for  our  former  place.  Of  course,  the  engineer 
and  fireman  could  reach  us,  but  these  men  were  al- 
ways indifferent,  and  never  interfered,  their  business 
being  ahead  instead  of  behind  the  engine. 

[188] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

The  train  whistled  almost  before  we  were  ready, 
and  pulled  slowly  out  of  the  station.  I  allowed 
my  companion  the  advantage  of  being  the  first  to 
jump,  owing  to  his  maimed  hand.  The  train  was 
now  going  faster  and  faster,  and  we  were  forced  to 
keep  pace  with  it.  Making  a  leap  he  caught  the 
handle  bar  and  sprang  lightly  on  the  step,  after 
which  my  hand  quickly  took  possession  of  this  bar, 
and  I  ran  with  the  train,  prepared  to  follow  his  ex- 
ample. To  my  surprise,  instead  of  at  once  taking 
his  place  on  the  platform,  my  companion  stood 
thoughtlessly  irresolute  on  the  step,  leaving  me  no 
room  to  make  the  attempt.  But  I  still  held  to  the 
bar,  though  the  train  was  now  going  so  fast  that 
I  found  great  difficulty  in  keeping  step  with  it.  I 
shouted  to  him  to  clear  the  step.  This  he  proceeded 
to  do,  very  deliberately,  I  thought.  Taking  a  firmer 
grip  on  the  bar,  I  jumped,  but  it  was  too  late,  for 
the  train  was  now  going  at  a  rapid  rate.  My  foot 
came  short  of  the  step,  and  I  fell,  and,  still  clinging 
to  the  handle  bar,  was  dragged  several  yards  before 
I  relinquished  my  hold.  And  there  I  lay  for  sev- 
eral minutes,  feeling  a  little  shaken,  whilst  the  train 
passed  swiftly  on  into  the  darkness. 

Even  then  I  did  not  know  what  had  happened, 
for  I  attempted  to  stand,  but  found  that  something 
had  happened  to  prevent  me  from  doing  this.  Sit- 
ting down  in  an  upright  position,  I  then  began  to 
examine  myself,  and  now  found  that  the  right  foot 

[189] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

was  severed  from  the  ankle.  This  discovery  did 
not  shock  me  so  much  as  the  thoughts  which  quickly 
followed.  For,  as  I  could  feel  no  pain,  I  did  not 
know  but  what  my  body  was  in  several  parts,  and 
I  was  not  satisfied  until  I  examined  every  portion 
of  it.  Seeing  a  man  crossing  the  track,  I  shouted 
to  him  for  assistance.  He  looked  in  one  direction 
and  another,  not  seeing  me  in  the  darkness,  and  was 
going  his  way  when  I  shouted  again.  This  time 
he  looked  full  my  way,  but  instead  of  coming  nearer, 
he  made  one  bound  in  the  air,  nearly  fell,  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  and  was  off  like  the  shot  from  a  gun. 
This  man  was  sought  after  for  several  weeks,  by 
people  curious  to  know  who  he  was,  but  was  never 
found,  and  no  man  came  forward  to  say — 'T  am 
he."  Having  failed  to  find  this  man,  people  at 
last  began  to  think  I  was  under  a  ghostly  impres- 
sion. Probably  that  was  the  other  man's  impression, 
for  who  ever  saw  Pity  make  the  same  speed  as 
Fear? 

Another  man,  after  this,  approached,  who  was 
a  workman  on  the  line,  and  at  the  sound  of  my  voice 
he  seemed  to  understand  at  once  what  had  occurred. 
Coming  forward  quickly,  he  looked  me  over,  went 
away,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  returned  with  the 
assistance  of  several  others  to  convey  me  to  the  sta- 
tion. A  number  of  people  were  still  there;  so  that 
when  I  was  placed  in  the  waiting  room  to  bide  the 
arrival  of  a  doctor,  I  could  see  no  other  way  of 

[190] 


A  Voice  in  the  Dark 

keeping  a  calm  face  before  such  a  number  of  eyes 
than  by  taking  out  my  pipe  and  smoking,  an  action 
which,  I  am  told,  caused  much  sensation  in  the  local 
press. 


[191I 


CHAPTER  XX 

HOSPITALITY 

I  BORE  this  accident  with  an  outward  fortitude 
that  was  far  from  the  true  state  of  my  feel- 
ings. The  doctor,  seeing  the  even  develop- 
ment of  my  body,  asked  me  if  I  was  an  athlete. 
Although  I  could  scarcely  claim  to  be  one,  I  had 
been  able,  without  any  training,  and  at  any  time,  to 
jump  over  a  height  of  five  feet;  had  also  been  a 
swimmer,  and,  when  occasion  offered,  had  donned 
the  gloves.  Thinking  of  my  present  helplessness 
caused  me  many  a  bitter  moment,  but  I  managed  to 
impress  all  comers  with  a  false  indifference. 

What  a  kind-hearted  race  of  people  are  these 
Canadians  I  Here  was  I,  an  entire  stanger  among 
them,  and  yet  every  hour  people  were  making  en- 
quiries, and  interesting  themselves  on  my  behalf, 
bringing  and  sending  books,  grapes,  bananas,  and 
other  delicacies  for  a  sick  man.  When  a  second 
operation  was  deemed  necessary,  the  leg  to  be  am- 
putated at  the  knee,  the  whole  town  was  concerned, 
and  the  doctors  had  to  give  strict  injunctions  not 
to  admit  such  a  number  of  kind  hearted  visitors. 
At  this  time  I  was  so  weak  of  body,  that  it  was 

[192] 


Hospitality 

thought  hopeless  to  expect  recovery  from  this  sec- 
ond operation.  This  was  soon  made  apparent  to 
me  by  the  doctor's  question,  as  to  whether  I  had 
any  message  to  send  to  my  people,  hinting  that  there 
was  a  slight  possibility  of  dying  under  the  chloro- 
form. A  minister  of  the  gospel  was  also  there,  and 
his  sympathetic  face  certainly  made  the  dying  seem 
probable.  Now,  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of 
dying  men  having  a  foresight  of  things  to  be,  but, 
I  confess,  that  I  was  never  more  calm  in  all  my  life 
than  at  this  moment  when  death  seemed  so  certain. 
I  did  not  for  one  instant  believe  or  expect  that  these 
eyes  would  again  open  to  the  light,  after  I  had  been 
in  this  low  vital  condition,  deadened  and  darkened 
for  over  two  hours,  whilst  my  body  was  being  cut 
and  sawn  like  so  much  wood  or  stone.  And  yet  I 
felt  no  terror  of  death.  I  had  been  taken  in  a  sleigh 
from  the  station  to  the  hospital,  over  a  mile  or  more 
of  snow ;  and  the  one  thought  that  worried  me  most, 
when  I  was  supposed  to  be  face  to  face  with  death, 
was  whether  the  town  lay  north,  south,  east  or  west 
from  the  hospital,  and  this,  I  believe,  was  the  last 
question  I  asked.  After  hearing  an  answer,  I  drew 
in  the  chloroform  in  long  breaths,  thinking  to  assist 
the  doctors  in  their  work.  In  spite  of  this,  I  have 
a  faint  recollection  of  struggling  with  all  my  might 
against  its  effects,  previous  to  losing  consciousness; 
but  I  was  greatly  surprised  on  being  afterwards  told 
that  I  had,  when  in  that  condition,  used  more  foul 

[193] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

language  in  ten  minutes'  delirium  than  had  probably 
been  used  in  twenty-four  hours  by  the  whole  popula- 
tion of  Canada.  It  was  explained  to  me  that  such 
language  was  not  unusual  in  cases  of  this  kind,  which 
consoled  me  not  a  little,  but  I  could  not  help  won- 
dering if  the  matron  had  been  present,  and  if  she 
had  confided  in  her  daughter.  The  latter  was  a 
)^oung  girl  of  sixteen  years,  or  thereabouts,  and  was 
so  womanly  and  considerate  that  her  mother  could 
very  well  leave  her  in  charge  of  the  patients  for  the 
whole  day,  although  this  had  not  been  necessary 
during  my  stay. 

For  three  days  after  this  operation  I  hovered  be- 
tween life  and  death,  any  breath  expected  to  be 
my  last.  But  in  seven  or  eight  days  my  vitality, 
which  must  be  considered  wonderful,  returned  in  a 
small  way,  and  I  was  then  considered  to  be  well  out 
of  danger.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  kindness  of 
these  people  touched  me  to  the  heart.  The  hospital 
was  situated  at  the  end  of  a  long  road,  and  all  peo- 
ple, after  they  had  passed  the  last  house,  which  was 
some  distance  away,  were  then  known  to  be  visitors 
to  the  matron  or  one  of  her  patients.  On  the  ve- 
randah outside  sat  the  matron's  dog,  and,  long  be- 
fore people  were  close  at  hand,  he  barked,  and  so 
prepared  us  for  their  coming.  When  it  was  known 
that  I  was  convalescent,  this  dog  was  kept  so  busy 
barking  that  his  sharp  clear  voice  became  hoarse 
with  the  exertion.     They  came  single,  they  came  in 

[194] 


Hospitality- 
twos  and  threes ;  old  people,  young  people  and  chil- 
dren; until  it  became  necessary  to  give  them  a  more 
formal  reception,  limiting  each  person  or  couple,  as 
it  might  be,  to  a  few  minutes'  conversation.  On 
hearing  that  I  was  fond  of  reading,  books  were  at 
once  brought  by  their  owners,  or  sent  by  others; 
some  of  which  I  had  not  the  courage  to  read  nor 
the  heart  to  return;  judging  them  wrongly  perhaps 
by  their  titles  of  this  character: — "Freddie's  Friend," 
"Little  Billie's  Button,"  and  "Sally's  Sacrifice." 
With  such  good  attendance  within,  and  so  much 
kindness  from  without,  what  wonder  that  I  was  now 
fit  to  return  to  England,  five  weeks  after  the  acci- 
dent, after  having  undergone  two  serious  operations  I 
My  new  friends  in  that  distant  land  would  persuade 
me  to  remain,  assuring  me  of  a  comfortable  living, 
but  I  decided  to  return  to  England  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, little  knowing  what  my  experience  would  be  in 
the  years  following. 

When  the  morning  came  for  my  departure,  the 
matron,  in  a  motherly  way,  put  her  two  hands  on 
my  shoulders  and  kissed  me,  her  eyes  being  full  of 
tears.  This,  coming  from  a  person  whose  business 
was  to  show  no  emotion,  doing  which  would  make 
her  unfit  for  her  position,  made  me  forget  the  short 
laugh  and  the  cold  hand  shake  for  which  my  mind 
had  prepared  itself,  and  I  felt  my  voice  gone,  and 
my  throat  in  the  clutches  of  something  new  to  my 
experience.     I  left  without  having  the  voice  to  say 

[195] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

good-bye.  On  my  way  I  had  to  wish  good-bye  to 
every  one  I  met,  and  when,  at  last,  this  ordeal  was 
over,  and  I  was  in  the  train  on  my  way  back  to 
Montreal,  I  felt  that  I  was  not  yet  strong  enough 
to  travel;  my  courage  forsook  me,  and  I  sat  pale 
and  despondent,  for  I  never  expected  to  meet  these 
people  again,  and  they  were  true  friends. 

Soon  I  reached  Montreal.  Only  two  months  had 
elapsed,  and  what  a  difference  now  I  Two  months 
ago,  and  it  was  winter,  snow  was  on  the  earth,  and 
the  air  was  cold;  but  I  was  then  full  limbed,  full 
of  vitality  and  good  spirits,  for  summer  like  pros- 
pects golden  and  glorious  possessed  me  night  and 
day.  It  was  summer  now,  the  earth  was  dry  and 
green,  and  the  air  warm,  but  winter  was  within  me; 
for  I  felt  crushed  and  staggered  on  crutches  to  the 
danger  of  myself  and  the  people  on  my  way.  I 
soon  got  over  this  unpleasant  feeling,  roused  by  the 
merry-makers  aboard  ship,  the  loudest  and  most 
persistent,  strange  to  say,  being  a  one-legged  man, 
who  defied  all  Neptune's  attempts  to  make  him  walk 
unsteady.  Seeing  this  man  so  merry,  I  knew  that 
my  sensitiveness  would  soon  wear  off;  and,  seeing 
him  so  active  was  a  great  encouragement.  I  was 
soon  home  again,  having  been  away  less  than  four 
months;  but  all  the  wildness  had  been  taken  out  of 
me,  and  my  adventures  after  this  were  not  of  my 
own  seeking,  but  the  result  of  circumstances. 


*&' 


[196] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LONDON 

SITTING  at  home,  thinking  of  future  employ- 
ment, manual  labour  being  now  out  of  the 
question,  it  was  then  for  the  first  time  that 
1  expressed  gratitude  for  my  old  grandmother's 
legacy,  which,  on  my  home  coming  from  the  States 
had  been  reduced  from  ten  shillings  to  eight  shillings 
per  week.  In  the  past  it  had  been  sniffed  at  and 
scorned,  being  called  several  ill-natured  names,  such 
as  "a  week's  tobacco,"  "a  day's  grub,"  or  "an  eve- 
ning's booze  without  cigars."  I  had  been  very  bit- 
ter, on  the  reading  of  her  will,  that  the  property 
had  not  come  into  my  hands,  to  sell  or  retain,  spend 
or  save;  but  a  little  common  sense  now  told  me 
that  if  such  had  been  the  case  I  would,  at  the  present 
time,  have  been  without  either  property  or  income, 
and  had  been  so  less  than  twelve  months  after  her 
death.  The  old  lady,  no  doubt,  had  noted  my  wild- 
ness,  and  to  save  me  the  temptation  to  squander 
my  brother's  share,  who  was  incapable  of  taking 
charge  of  his  own  affairs,  and  whose  share  I  must 
have  ill  managed,  after  the  passing  of  my  own  she 
had  wisely  left  this  property  to  remain  in  the  hands 

[  >97] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

of  a  trustee,  which  now  turned  out  as  lucky  for  my- 
self as  for  my  brother. 

I  was  now  more  content  with  my  lot,  determined 
that  as  my  body  had  failed,  my  brains  should  now 
have  the  chance  they  had  longed  for,  when  the  spirit 
had  been  bullied  into  submission  by  the  body's  ac- 
tivity. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  Summer,  and  daily  I 
sat  dreaming,  reading,  and  occasionally  writing  in 
a  leafy  bower  in  the  garden.  I  could  now  dispense 
with  crutches,  having  just  received  from  London 
an  artificial  limb,  and  on  this  was  practising,  taking 
short  walks  at  night,  with  a  success  that  was  gratify- 
ing. A  far  different  Klondyke  had  opened  up  be- 
fore my  eyes,  which  corresponded  with  the  dreams 
of  my  youth.  I  pictured  myself  returning  home, 
not  with  gold  nuggets  from  the  far  West,  but  with 
literary  fame,  wrested  from  no  less  a  place  than  the 
mighty  London.  This  secret  was  never  divulged  to 
my  people,  and,  in  the  after  years,  this  reticence 
saved  them  from  many  a  pang  of  disappointment, 
and  freed  me  from  many  an  awkward  question.  De- 
termined to  lose  no  time  in  the  conquest  of  that 
city,  which  I  expected  would  be  surrendered  to  me 
some  time  within  twelve  months,  I  began,  without 
wasting  more  time  in  dreams,  to  make  preparations 
for  this  journey.  Alas!  how  many  greater  men 
failed  in  a  lifetime  at  this  attempt,  although  they 
now  stand  triumphant  in  death,  holding  in  their 

[198] 


London 

spiritual  hands  the  freedom  and  keys  of  the  whole 
world's  cities  I 

With  a  cotton  shirt,  a  pair  of  stockings  and  a  hand- 
kerchief in  a  brown  paper  parcel,  and  the  sum  of 
two  pounds  in  my  pocket,  after  the  expense  of  train 
fare,  I  started  for  London,  filled  to  the  brim  with 
the  aforesaid  designs.  My  failure  in  the  States, 
and  again  in  Canada,  had  made  me  a  little  more 
chary  with  my  confidence,  but  I  was  not  in  the  least 
the  less  optimistic.  My  first  dreams  were,  and  are, 
my  best.  I  scorn  clothes  and  jewellery;  I  would 
rather  take  a  free  country  walk,  leaving  the  roads 
for  the  less  trodden  paths  of  the  hills  and  the  lanes, 
than  ride  in  a  yacht  or  a  coach;  I  would  rather  see 
the  moon  in  the  ruins  than  the  gaslight  of  an  as- 
sembly room;  gluttony  I  despise,  and  drink  is  seldom 
taken  except  at  the  invitation  of  other  eyes:  then 
what,  in  the  name  of  everything  we  know,  would  be 
to  me  the  silver  and  gold  of  all  Alaska  I 

I  arrived  in  London  early  the  following  morning, 
and  at  once  made  my  way  towards  Lambeth.  Early 
that  night,  being  tired  with  the  exertion  of  an  un- 
usually long  day,  I  went  seeking  for  lodgings  in 
Blackfriars  Road,  and,  seeing  several  signs  that 
claimed  to  accommodate  working  men  with  good 
clean  beds  at  sixpence  per  night,  entered  one  of  these 
establishments,  paid  the  amount  demanded,  and  was 
then  ushered  into  a  long  kitchen,  preferring  to  sit 
and  smoke  for  an  hour  before  retiring  for  the  night. 

[199] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Some  thirty  or  forty  men  were  in  this  kitchen,  but 
the  British  Workman  had  either  not  yet  arrived, 
was  out  drinking  his  pint,  or  had  gone  early  to  bed. 
This  was  not  by  any  means  my  first  experience  in 
England  of  lodging  houses,  for  I  had  been  forced  to 
live  in  similar  places  on  my  visits  in  cattle  ships 
from  America;  but  I  certainly  did  not  like  the  look 
of  this  place,  where  no  sign  of  authority  was  to  be 
seen,  and  which  seemed  to  be  entirely  left  to  the 
control  of  these  noisy  men.  Some  of  these  lodgers 
had  been  old  soldiers,  had  just  received  their  pen- 
sions— the  accumulation  of  three  months.  A  num- 
ber of  them  were  bringing  in  cans  of  beer,  and  the 
kitchen  was  in  an  uproar.  Many  of  them  were  too 
drunk  to  perform  this  task,  but  were  sufficiently 
sober  to  sit  awake  and  give  money  and  orders  to 
others,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  willing  hands  to 
bring  them  what  they  required.  I  left  the  kitchen 
at  once,  determined  to  seek  another  place,  without 
troubling  the  landlady  to  refund  my  money.  As  I 
left  the  kitchen,  two  drunken  men  began  to  fight; 
others  interfered,  and  this  fight  threatened  to  be- 
come an  all  round  affair.  When  I  had  reached  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  feeling  my  way  in  the  dark,  I  found 
the  landlady  standing  at  the  office  door.  Seeing 
me,  as  I  was  about  to  pass  her,  she  said,  in  a  voice 
which  was  the  worse  for  drink — "So  you  want  to 
go  to  bed?  Here,  Jim,  show  this  gentleman  to 
his  bed."     Jim  obeyed,  a  small,  pale-faced  child, 

[200] 


London 

whom  I  mechanically  followed  up  two  flights  of 
stairs,  which  were  better  lighted  than  those  leading 
to  the  kitchen,  which  was  in  the  basement  of  the 
house.  He  then  showed  me  into  a  room  where 
there  were  a  number  of  beds,  and,  pointing  to  one, 
said — "You  are  number  forty-five,"  when  he  left  the 
room.  Many  of  the  beds  already  contained  sleep- 
ers. I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  mine,  wondering 
if  there  would  be  any  disturbance  in  the  night, 
whether  any  of  these  men  would  take  a  fancy  to 
my  clothes,  or  in  the  dark  were  likely  to  rummage 
their  contents.  The  man  in  the  next  bed  coughed, 
and  then,  turning  towards  me,  said  gently — "The 
beds  are  good,  I  admit,  but  that  is  about  all  you 
can  say  of  this  house."  Second  voice,  not  far  away: 
"You've  come  to  a  good  house,  you  have,  and  yer 
don't  know  it."  First  voice:  "If  I  hadn't  been 
drunk  last  night  and  got  chucked  out  of  Rowton's, 
I  wouldn't,  on  any  account,  be  here."  A  third 
voice,  distant,  but  loud  and  angry:  "Give  over, 
will  yer:  when  are  you  coves  going  to  sleep*?  I  ain't 
done  any  labour  for  three  weeks,  and  now  as  I've 
got  a  chance  at  four  in  the  mornin',  blow  me  if  I 
ain't  robbed  of  my  slumber.  Take  care  I  don't  set 
about  yer  at  once,  yer  blooming  lot  of  bleeders.  If 
I  come  arter  yer  body,  yer'U  know  it,  and  no  mis- 
take about  it,  either."  No  more  was  said  after  this. 
I  at  once  made  up  my  mind  to  try  Rowton  House 
on  the  following  day.     That  they  had  refused  this 

[201] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

man  a  bed  owing  to  his  being  drunk,  and,  more  than 
likely,  quarrelsome  in  drink,  was  a  strong  recom- 
mendation to  me  after  my  experience  here,  where  it 
would  be  impossible  to  either  read,  write  or  think, 
or  to  even  partake  of  my  meals  in  comfort. 

The  following  morning,  after  having  had  break- 
fast at  an  eating  house,  I  enquired  for  Rowton 
House,  and  when  the  first  person  I  addressed  asked 
which  one  I  wanted,  I  answered  him — "the  nearest 
one."  This  proved  to  be  in  Newington  Butts  and, 
after  receiving  instructions,  I  proceeded  accordingly, 
and  was  soon  standing  outside  that  place,  where  I 
was  to  remain  for  two  years,  without  in  the  least  im- 
pressing London.  To  my  surprise,  I  found  this 
house  to  be  a  fine  large  block  of  red  buildings,  with 
an  imposing  front,  and  a  fine  entrance,  polished  and 
clean;  and,  facing  its  many  front  windows,  was 
an  old  church  tower  and  clock,  set  in  an  old  leafy 
churchyard  that  had  stones  for  the  dead  and  a  num- 
ber of  wooden  seats  for  the  living. 

On  making  an  application  for  a  bed,  I  learnt  that 
this  could  not  be  granted  until  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  but  was  courteously  allowed  the  privilege 
of  remaining  indoors  until  that  time.  This  place 
surprised  me  by  its  accommodation  of  dining  rooms, 
library,  sitting  rooms,  baths,  lavatories,  etc.,  all  be- 
ing kept  clean  and  in  thorough  good  order  by  a 
large  staff  of  men,  its  charge  being  sixpence  per 
night. 

[202] 


^t3' 


London 

On  making  my  way  into  the  library,  and  seeing 
two  large  cases  of  books,  one  containing  fiction,  and 
the  other  being  enriched  by  the  poets,  historians, 
essayists,  with  biography  and  miscellaneous  litera- 
ture, and  hearing  how  quiet  this  room  was,  in  spite 
of  the  presence  of  over  a  hundred  men,  I  at  once 
made  up  my  mind  to  pay  a  week's  lodgings  down, 
indifferent  whether  the  sleeping  accommodation  was 
good  or  bad.  This  I  did  at  nine  o'clock,  after 
which  I  sat  sometimes  reading  the  paper,  and  again 
watching  the  faces  of  this  mixed  assembly.  Some 
of  them  were  of  refined  appearance,  with  their  silk 
hats,  their  frock  coats,  cuffs  and  collars,  and  spoke 
in  voices  subdued  and  gentle.  Some  of  them  were 
of  such  a  prosperous  appearance  that  no  doubt  I 
had  already  passed  them  in  the  street,  thinking  they 
were  either  merchants  or  managers  of  great  concerns ; 
and,  more  likely  than  not,  the  paper  boys  had  fol- 
lowed on  their  heels,  and  the  cabmen  had  persistently 
hailed  them. 

If  I  wanted  to  devote  my  time  to  study,  living 
on  eight  shillings  per  week,  this  was  apparently  a 
suitable  place  for  my  purpose.  Being  my  own  bar- 
ber, doing  my  own  plain  cooking,  and  living  ab- 
stemiously, renouncing  drink  and  the  pleasures  of 
theatres,  and  other  indoor  entertainments,  and  re- 
taining tobacco  as  my  sole  luxury — I  saw  no  reason 
why  this  could  not  be  done,  at  the  same  time  making 
up  my  mind  that  it  had  to  be  done. 

[203] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

I  had  been  here  Uttle  more  than  a  week,  when  I 
set  to  work  in  earnest,  and  the  result  of  two  months' 
diHgence  was  a  tragedy,  written  in  blank  verse,  and 
which  I  called  'The  Robber."  Never  dreaming 
but  what  it  would  at  once  meet  with  success,  owing 
to  its  being  full  of  action — a  very  difficult  thing  to 
marry  to  verse,  but  which  I  thought  was  success- 
fully accomplished — I  was  somewhat  taken  aback 
to  have  it  returned  to  me  on  the  third  day,  with 
the  manager's  regret.  Now  it  seemed  that  the  Row- 
ton  House  had  a  bad  name,  owing  to  the  great  num- 
ber of  criminals  that  were  continually  in  the  Police 
Courts  giving  that  address.  Some  of  these  lodgers, 
for  that  very  reason,  had  their  correspondence  ad- 
dressed to  various  small  shops,  where  they  were  cus- 
tomers for  tobacco,  papers,  and  groceries. 

On  having  this  tragedy  returned,  I,  thinking  of 
this,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  no  respectable  per- 
son would  be  likely  to  consider  or  respect  any  work, 
or  application  for  the  same,  that  emanated  from  a 
house  of  this  name.  I  spoke  to  a  gentleman  with 
whom  I  had  become  acquainted,  on  this  difficult 
subject,  and  he  agreed  with  me,  saying  that  such 
were  the  true  facts  of  the  case.  "But,"  said  he, 
after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "as  your  means  are  so 
limited,  and  the  shopkeepers  charge  one  penny  for 
every  letter  they  receive  on  a  customer's  behalf, 
would  it  not  be  as  well  to  still  have  your  correspond- 
ence addressed  here,  but  in  another  way,  of  which 

[204] 


London 

you  probably  have  not  heard"?  Give  your  address 
as  number  one  Churchyard  Row,  and,  although  peo- 
ple will  not  recognise  this  house  under  that  name, 
yet  the  post  office  authorities  will  know  it  for  its 
proper  address."  This  I  did,  without  further  ques- 
tion, and  "The  Robber"  was  despatched  on  a  sec- 
ond journey.  Fourteen  days  after  my  robber  re- 
turned to  number  one  Churchyard  Row.  Bother- 
ing my  head  to  account  for  this,  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  my  tragedy  had  not  been  read  farther 
than  the  front  page,  and  that  a  tragedy  that  was 
born  and  bred  in  such  a  place  as  Churchyard  Row — 
the  address  being  so  appropriate  to  the  nature  of 
the  work — was  enough  to  make  any  man,  who  had 
the  least  sense  of  humour,  condemn  it  with  a  laugh. 
My  conceit,  at  this  time,  was  foolish  in  the  extreme, 
and  yet  I  was  near  my  thirtieth  year. 

The  next  work  was  a  very  long  poem,  in  which 
the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  even 
the  fishes  of  the  sea,  met  in  a  forest  glade  to  impeach 
man  for  his  cruelty  to  them,  and  went  on  to  describe 
their  journey  at  midnight  to  the  nearest  town,  and 
the  vengeance  they  then  took  on  the  sleeping  in- 
habitants. My  confidence  in  this  work  being  ac- 
cepted could  not  have  been  altogether  whole-hearted, 
for  the  following  reason:  I  made  two  copies  of  this 
poem,  and  posted  them  simultaneously  to  different 
publishers.  I  felt  quite  satisfied  that  one  of  these 
would  be  accepted,   but  when  a  whole  week  had 

[205] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

passed  on,  and  I  had  received  no  communication 
from  either  publisher,  I  was  then  horrified  to  think 
that  they  both  were  giving  the  poem  such  a  con- 
sideration that  there  was  a  probability  that  both  of 
them  would  accept  it,  and  that  both  publishers  would 
call  on  me  to  make  terms,  perhaps  at  the  very  same 
hour.  This  thought  so  preyed  on  my  mind  that  I 
did  not  feel  at  all  easy  until  I  had  one  of  the  copies 
returned;  but  it  was  a  great  disappointment  to  re- 
ceive the  second  copy  on  the  following  day. 

Thinking  that  short  poems  would  stand  a  better 
prospect  of  being  accepted,  I  set  to  work  on  a  hun- 
dred sonnets,  writing  five,  and  sometimes  six  a  day, 
but  when  this  number  had  been  accomplished  and 
submitted,  this  work  met  with  the  same  failure. 
After  this  I  wrote  another  tragedy,  a  comedy,  a  vol- 
ume of  humorous  essays,  and  hundreds,  I  believe, 
of  short  poems.  I  was  always  writing  at  this  time, 
either  beginning  or  finishing  a  work,  but,  strange  to 
say,  none  of  this  work  was  being  sent  out,  but  was 
safely  treasured,  under  the  impression  that  it  would 
some  day  find  its  market. 

After  having  had  twelve  months'  practice,  in  the 
last  months  of  which  no  attempt  had  been  made 
at  publication,  I  decided  to  make  one  more  effort, 
this  time  with  a  small  volume  of  short  poems.  This 
was  immediately  sent  to  a  well  known  publisher, 
who  in  a  few  days  returned  answer,  offering  to 
publish  at  the  author's  expense,  the  sum  needed  be- 

[206] 


London 

ing  twenty-five  pounds.  This  success  completely 
turned  my  head.  With  all  my  heart  I  believed 
that  there  would  not  be  the  least  difficulty  in  pro- 
curing money  for  such  a  grand  purpose,  and  at  once 
wrote  to  several  well  known  philanthropists,  writ- 
ing six  letters.  Two  of  them  never  murmured,  and 
the  other  four  set  their  secretaries  to  snap  me  up  in 
a  few  words.  Exasperated  at  this  I  wrote  to  several 
others,  all  my  trouble  being  to  no  purpose. 

Now,  when  I  first  entered  this  lodging  house,  I 
had  something  like  thirty  shillings  to  the  good,  be- 
ing ahead  of  my  income,  and  up  to  the  present  had 
no  reason  for  spending  this  amount.  Could  I  put 
this  to  some  use?  My  mind  had  several  plans,  and 
one  in  particular  seemed  good  and  feasible.  I  would 
write  three  or  four  short  poems  on  a  page,  get  them 
printed,  and  sell  them  from  door  to  door.  Two 
thousand  of  these  sheets,  sold  at  threepence  per 
copy,  would  be  twenty-five  pounds,  and,  no  doubt, 
I  could  sell  quite  a  hundred  of  these  copies  a  day, 
providing  I  went  from  house  to  house,  from  street 
to  street,  from  early  morning  till  late  at  night.  With 
this  object  I  lost  no  time  in  seeing  a  job  printer, 
and  was  told  that  thirty-five  shillings  would  be 
needed  to  defray  expenses.  This  large  amount  dis- 
appointed me  not  a  little,  but  I  paid  a  deposit  and 
went  back  to  the  house,  where  I  lived  and  nearly 
starved  in  saving  four  shillings  that  were  short,  which 
was  done  in  two  weeks  out  of  the  sixteen  shillings 

[207] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

that  were  to  maintain  me  in  food  and  lodgings  for 
fourteen  days.  At  last,  after  great  privation  and  sac- 
rifice, it  was  done,  and  I  received  from  the  printer 
two  thousand  and  some  odd  copies.  Early  the  next 
morning  I  was  to  be  seen  in  the  suburbs  of  Lon- 
don, with  my  hands  and  pockets  full  of  these  copies, 
going  from  door  to  door.  I  mentioned  to  the  in- 
habitants that  I  had  had  an  offer  from  a  publisher, 
and  that  he  could  not  undertake  to  publish  my  work 
under  twenty-five  pounds.  All  these  people  did  was 
to  stare,  none  of  them  seeming  to  understand,  and 
no  one  seemed  inclined  to  ask  questions.  I  had,  I 
believe,  visited  the  doors  of  some  thirty  houses  or 
more,  and  had  not  sold  one  copy.  Most  of  these 
people  were  poor,  and  some  had  become  sufficiently 
interested  to  enquire  the  price  of  my  copies,  seem- 
ing inclined  and  willing  to  trade  with  me  in  a  small 
way,  but  none  of  them  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  give 
threepence  for  a  sheet  of  paper  which  they  did  not 
understand.  At  last  I  chanced  upon  a  house  that 
was  much  larger  than  the  others,  at  which  place  a 
servant  answered  the  door.  I  lost  no  time  in  re- 
lating to  her  the  true  facts  of  the  case,  and  she  was 
standing  there  silent  and  puzzled  as  to  my  mean- 
ing, when  her  mistress  called  to  her  from  the  top 
of  the  stairs — "Mary,  who's  there ■?"  On  which  the 
maiden  gave  answer  in  a  halting  voice — "Some  man 
selling  some  paper."  At  this  there  was  a  pause, 
and  then  the  same  voice  said,  from  the  direction  of 

[208] 


London 

the  stairs — "Give  him  this  penny,  and  tell  him  to 
go  away,"  and,  almost  instantly,  that  copper  coin 
fell  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  and  came  rolling 
rapidly  towards  us,  as  though  aware  of  its  mission. 
The  girl  handed  me  this  penny,  which  I  took  me- 
chanically, at  the  same  time  persisting  in  her  taking 
a  copy  to  her  mistress.  That  lady,  hearing  our 
further  conversation,  and  perhaps,  guessing  its  im- 
port, cried  again,  this  time  in  a  warning  voice — 
"Mary,  mind  you  don't  take  anything  from  him." 
This  crushed  the  last  hope,  for  I  began  to  think  that 
if  this  lady,  who  might  be  a  woman  of  some  cultiva- 
tion and  rich,  could  only  see  and  read  what  had 
been  done,  she  might  have  at  once,  in  her  deep  in- 
terest, merged  the  whole  twenty-five  pounds,  at  the 
same  time  befriending  me  for  life.  Alas  I  I  have 
been  unfortunate  all  my  life  in  believing  that  there 
were  a  great  number  of  rich  people  who  were  only 
too  eager  to  come  forward  and  help  talent  in  dis- 
tress. 

I  was  so  disgusted  at  receiving  this  single  penny, 
and  being  so  dismissed,  that  I  at  once  put  the  sheets 
back  in  my  pockets  and  returned  to  the  city.  How 
long  would  it  take  to  get  twenty-five  pounds,  at 
this  rate"?  What  am  I  talking  about!  Money  was 
lost,  not  even  this  single  copper  was  a  gain;  for  this 
penny-a-day  experience  had  cost  me  three  pennies 
in  tram  fare,  without  mention  of  a  more  expensive 
breakfast  than  I  usually  had. 

[209] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

When  I  got  back  to  the  house  I  started,  with  the 
fury  of  a  madman,  to  burn  the  copies,  and  did  not 
rest  until  they  were  all  destroyed,  taking  care  not 
to  save  one  copy  that  would  at  any  time  in  the  future 
remind  me  of  my  folly. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  came  under  the  influence 
of  Flanagan.  That  gentleman,  seeing  me  often 
writing  and  apparently  in  deep  thought,  at  once 
gave  me  credit  for  more  wisdom  than  I  possessed. 
He  was  a  very  illiterate  man,  having  no  knowledge 
of  grammar,  punctuation  or  spelling.  The  upshot 
of  this  acquaintance  was  that  he  informed  me  in 
confidence  that  he  was  the  lawful  heir  to  nearly 
half  the  county  of  Mayo,  in  Ireland;  on  which  es- 
tate was  a  house  like  the  King's  palace.  In  ex- 
change for  this  confidence  I  told  him  that  I  was  the 
author  of  a  book  of  verse,  which  could  not  be  pub- 
lished except  the  author  defrayed  expenses.  On 
which  Flanagan  expressed  much  sympathy — more 
especially  when  I  read  him  aloud  a  few  lines  ex- 
pressing my  disapproval  of  landowners  and  rich 
tyrants — and  promised  sincerely  to  relieve  me  of  all 
difficulty  providing,  of  course,  that  he  made  good 
his  claims  to  the  estate.  Flanagan  then  proposed 
that  I  should  put  some  of  his  arguments  in  gram- 
matical form,  which  he  would  immediately  forward 
to  the  proper  authorities.  This  I  began  to  do  at 
once,  and  some  of  Flanagan's  arguments  were  so 
strong  that  I  am  surprised  at  the  present  day  at 

[210] 


London 

being  a  free  man.  I  told  one  eminent  statesman 
that  he  should  retire  and  give  place  to  a  more  hon- 
est man,  and  another  that  though  he  was  born  in 
Ireland  and  bore  the  name  of  an  Irishman,  yet  he 
was  a  traitor,  for  his  heart  had  ever  been  in  Eng- 
land. Despite  these  powerful  letters,  the  County 
Mayo  never  to  my  knowledge  changed  hands,  and 
I  was  disappointed  in  my  expectations,  and  Flana- 
gan grieved  daily.  At  that  time,  I  must  confess, 
I  thoroughly  believed  Flanagan,  perhaps  through 
being  blinded  by  my  own  ambitions  as  an  author. 
Even  at  the  present  time,  though  I  have  cut  down 
the  estate  considerably,  from  half  a  county  to  half 
an  acre,  and  have  taken  out  quite  a  number  of  win- 
dows from  the  estate's  residence — after  doing  this, 
I  still  believe  that  poor  Flanagan  was  robbed  of  a 
cottage  and  garden  by  an  avaricious  landlord. 

This  was  at  the  time  of  the  Boer  War  and  Flana- 
gan's long  dark  beard  and  slouched  hat  gave  him  the 
exact  appearance  of  one  of  those  despised  people. 
Therefore  we  seldom  took  a  walk  together  but  what 
we  were  stoned  by  boys  in  the  street,  and  even  grown 
up  people  passed  insulting  remarks.  In  fact  every- 
where we  went  we  were  regarded  with  suspicion. 
Our  clothes  not  being  of  the  best,  drew  the  atten- 
tion of  attendants  at  museums  and  art  galleries,  and 
we,  being  swarthy  and  alien  in  appearance,  never 
paused  near  a  palace  but  what  sentry  and  police 
watched   our  every  movement.     One  morning  we 

[211] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

were  passing  through  Whitehall,  what  time  a  regi- 
ment of  soldiers  were  being  drilled  and  inspected 
by  a  gentleman  in  a  silk  hat.  Now  Flanagan  was 
a  man  of  great  courage  and  never  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  whisper.  Therefore  a  vein  of  savage  satire 
broke  in  Flanagan's  heart  when  he  beheld  a  man 
in  a  silk  hat  inspecting  a  troop  of  soldiers.  "See  I" 
he  cried,  "there's  a  sight  for  the  Boers."  A  num- 
ber of  bystanders  resented  this  remark,  and  there 
were  loud  murmurs  of  disapproval.  On  which 
Flanagan  asked  the  following  question:  "Will  the 
best  man  in  the  crowd  step  forward?"  But  no 
man  seemed  inclined  to  attempt  Flanagan's  chas- 
tisement, without  being  assisted.  Although  I  did 
not  entirely  approve  of  him  on  this  occasion,  still, 
seeing  that  the  words  could  not  be  recalled,  I  was 
quite  prepared  to  be  carried  with  him  half  dead  on 
a  stretcher  to  the  nearest  hospital;  for  I  liked  the 
man,  and  he  certainly  seemed  to  like  me,  since  he 
always  took  his  walks  alone  when  I  did  not  accom- 
pany him. 


[212] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    ARK 

1HAD  now  been  two  years  in  London,  at  the 
same  place,  and  though  my  literary  efforts  had 
not  been  very  successful,  I  must  confess  that 
the  conditions  had  not  been  the  most  unfavourable 
for  study;  and,  no  doubt,  I  had  cultivated  my  mind 
not  a  little  by  the  reading  of  standard  works.  The 
conditions  of  this  place  could  not  have  been  bet- 
tered by  a  person  of  such  small  means,  and  probably 
I  would  have  continued  living  here  until  I  met  with 
some  success,  had  I  not  known  of  one  who  would 
be  thankful  of  a  couple  of  shillings  a  week,  and 
resolved  to  make  a  little  sacrifice  that  would  enable 
me  to  send  them.  To  do  this  it  was  necessary  to 
seek  cheaper  lodgings  where,  rent  not  being  so  high, 
this  amount  could  be  saved.  I  had  heard  something 
of  such  a  place  in  Southwark  which  was  under 
the  control  of  the  Salvation  Army.  A  bed  was  to 
be  had  there  for  two  shillings  per  week,  therefore 
one  and  sixpence  would  be  saved  at  the  onset,  as 
I  was  now  paying  three  and  sixpence.  Following 
my  first  impulse,  as  usual,  but  with  much  regret  at 
having  to  leave  a  place  where  I  had  not  by  any 
means  been  unhappy,  I  gathered  up  my  few  things 

[213] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

and  left,  and  that  night  settled  in  Southwark  Street. 

Speaking  after  six  months'  experience  at  the  Sal- 
vation Army  Lodging  House,  I  am  very  sorry  that 
I  have  nothing  at  all  to  say  in  its  favour.  Of  course, 
it  was  well  understood  by  the  lodgers,  whatever 
people  on  the  outside  thought,  that  no  charity  was 
dispensed  on  the  premises.  Certainly  the  food  was 
cheap,  but  such  food  as  was  not  fit  for  a  human 
being.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  place  came  un- 
der the  control  of  the  London  County  Council,  being 
regarded  as  a  charitable  institution,  or  whether,  in 
case  of  a  surprise  visit  from  its  inspectors,  beds  were 
removed  in  the  day:  what  I  do  know  from  experi- 
ence is  this,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  a  man 
could  find  room  between  the  beds  to  undress.  A 
row  of  fifteen  or  twenty  beds  would  be  so  close  to- 
gether that  they  might  as  well  be  called  one  bed. 
Men  were  breathing  and  coughing  in  each  other's 
faces  and  the  stench  of  such  a  number  of  men  in  one 
room  was  abominable.  I  was  fortunate  in  having  a 
bed  next  to  the  wall,  to  which  I  could  turn  my  face 
and  escape  the  breath  of  the  man  in  the  next  bed. 

The  officers  in  charge  were,  according  to  my  first 
opinion,  hypocrites;  which  seemed  to  be  verified  some 
time  after  from  Head  Quarters,  for  both  the  Cap- 
tain and  his  Lieutenant  were  dismissed  from  the 
Army.  However,  the  Captain  was  well  liked  by 
the  lodgers,  and  I  have  often  seen  him  assist  them 
out  of  his  own  private  purse. 

[214] 


The  Ark 

As  for  the  Lieutenant,  he  was  very  gentle  and 
fervent  in  prayer,  more  so  than  any  man  I  have  ever 
heard,  but  in  conversation  he  had  not  a  civil  word 
for  any  one,  except,  of  course,  his  superior  officer. 
He  sometimes  made  his  deceit  so  apparent  that  I 
have  been  forced  to  laugh  out.  When  the  Captain 
arrived  at  night,  or  in  the  morning — he  was  a  mar- 
ried man  and  did  not  live  on  the  premises — he  would 
stand  with  his  back  to  the  restaurant  bar,  looking 
down  the  long  room  at  the  faces  of  his  many  lodgers. 
It  was  at  such  a  time  that  when  I  have  looked  up 
from  my  meal,  I  have  been  surprised,  and  not  a 
little  startled,  to  see  this  Lieutenant's  pale  thin  face 
looking  down  through  a  glass  window,  eager  to  see 
what  his  superior  ofBcer  was  doing.  So  engrossed 
would  he  be  that  he  would  entirely  forget  that  he 
exposed  his  deceit  to  the  eyes  of  a  number  of  men 
who  had  their  faces  turned  towards  him.  Some- 
times he  would  creep  tiptoe  to  the  kitchen  door  and 
peep  in  for  an  instant,  and  then  creep  back  to  the 
office.  I  have  often  wondered  that  the  Captain 
never  turned  and  surprised  him  in  these  doings,  for 
there  was  not  a  lodger  in  the  house  that  had  not  one 
time  or  another  seen  him  perform  them. 

On  Sunday  afternoons,  these  two,  the  Captain 
and  his  Lieutenant,  would  conduct  a  meeting;  the 
latter  commencing  it  with  a  short  prayer,  after  which 
the  former  would  preach  a  sermon  which  was,  I 
must  confess,  often  interesting,  and  invariably  elo- 

[2'5] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

quent.  In  all  my  life  I  have  never  heard  a  more 
pathetic  address  and  prayer  than  that  which  was 
delivered  by  this  Captain,  on  one  of  these  Sunday 
afternoons.  It  so  chanced  that  in  this  place  there 
lived  a  poor  half  demented  lodger,  who  was  known 
by  the  name  of  Horace,  whose  profession  was  that 
of  a  flower  seller.  Every  night  this  man  would 
dress  and  garland  himself  with  his  unsold  flowers, 
and  return  home  drunk  to  the  Ark.  Now,  this  man 
suddenly  disappeared,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  man 
committed  suicide  from  London  Bridge,  which  was 
well  known  to  be  the  haunt  of  the  man  Horace. 
Whereat  the  following  Sunday  our  Captain  preached 
a  funeral  oration,  giving  for  our  interest  the  few 
facts  he  had  gleaned  from  the  past  life  of  the  de- 
ceased, who,  the  Captain  affirmed,  had  received  a 
good  education  and  had  come  of  a  respectable  family. 
The  Captain  wept  copiously,  being  overcome  by 
his  feelings,  and  the  Lieutenant  approved  and  en- 
couraged him  by  an  unusual  number  of  sighs  and 
broken  sobs.  The  meeting  then  ended  with  an  ear- 
nest prayer  for  the  soul  of  the  drowned  Horace. 
About  six  days  after  this  meeting  had  taken  place, 
there  came  to  the  Ark  a  man  drivelling  and  laugh- 
ing idiotically,  with  wreaths  and  posies  all  over  his 
person — no  other  than  the  lamented  Horace.  The 
Captain  came  out  of  his  office,  followed  by  his  Lieu- 
tenant. The  Captain  looked  at  Horace  with  a  mel- 
ancholy annoyance;  the  Lieutenant  looked  first  at 

[2.6] 


The  Ark 

his  superior  officer  and,  after  receiving  his  expres- 
sion into  his  own  face,  turned  it  slowly  on  Horace. 
The  Captain  then  turned  slowly  on  his  heels,  at  the 
same  time  shaking  his  head,  and,  without  saying  a 
word,  returned  to  the  office,  while  his  subordinate 
followed  him  in  every  particular.  Never,  after  this, 
did  this  Captain  treat  Horace  as  a  living  man,  and 
all  chaff  and  familiar  conversation  was  at  an  end 
between  them.  How  the  Captain  came  to  the  be- 
lief that  the  drowned  suicide  was  Horace,  the  flower 
seller,  was  very  strange,  for  this  man  was  known  to 
mysteriously  disappear  several  times  in  the  year,  he, 
invariably,  like  the  drowned  man  he  was  supposed 
to  be,  coming  to  the  surface  on  the  seventh  day, 
seven  days  being  the  extreme  penalty  of  his  simple 
and  eccentric  behaviour. 

There  was  no  lack  of  strictness  at  this  place; 
whether  a  man  was  ill  or  not,  whether  it  rained, 
snowed  or  hailed,  every  lodger  was  compelled  to 
quit  the  premises  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  after 
which  it  would  remain  closed  for  cleaning  purposes 
until  one  o'clock.  And  yet  there  was  not  a  man 
in  the  house  could  keep  himself  clean.  It  was  not 
thought  necessary  to  close  other  establishments  of 
this  kind,  that  were  not  connected  with  the  name 
of  religion,  which  were  kept  cleaner  without  making 
the  lodgers  suffer  any  inconvenience.  Why  things 
should  be  carried  on  in  this  high  handed  fashion 
I  cannot  understand,  seeing  that  there  was  not  the 

[217] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

least  charity  doled  out.  Whatever  good  the  Salva- 
tion Army  did  for  the  homeless  and  penniless  in 
their  shelters,  they  certainly  did  not  cater  well  for 
these  poor,  but  independent,  fellows  whose  wages 
ranged  from  a  shilling  to  eighteenpence  a  day — be- 
ing paper-men,  sandwichmen,  toy-sellers,  etc.,  who 
receive  nothing  but  what  they  paid  for. 

I  had  been  at  this  place  something  like  four 
months,  when  I  determined  to  make  another  attempt 
at  publication.  My  plans  at  this  time  seemed  to  be 
very  feasible,  for  I  gave  them  a  full  half  year  for 
execution.  I  applied  at  the  local  police  station  for 
a  pedlar's  certificate,  intending  to  stock  myself  with 
laces,  pins,  needles  and  buttons  with  which  I  would 
hawk  the  country  from  one  end  to  the  other.  At 
the  end  of  this  time  I  would  be  some  ten  pounds  in 
pocket,  the  result  of  not  drawing  my  income,  and 
would,  no  doubt,  save  between  nine  and  ten  shillings 
a  week  as  a  hawker.  Being  very  impulsive,  I  pro- 
posed starting  on  this  interesting  business  at  once, 
but  one  idea — which  could  not  for  long  be  over- 
looked— brought  me  to  a  halt:  my  artificial  leg  would 
certainly  not  stand  the  strain  of  this  enforced  march 
from  town  to  town  on  the  country  roads,  that  were 
so  often  rough  and  uneven.  For  even  now  it  was 
creaking,  and  threatened  at  every  step  to  break  down. 
On  mentioning  these  difficulties  to  a  fellow  lodger, 
he  at  once  advised  me  to  go  to  the  Surgical  Aid  So- 
ciety for  a  wooden  leg,  of  the  common  peg  sort; 

[218] 


The  Ark 

which,  he  was  pleased  to  mention,  would  not  only 
be  more  useful  for  such  a  knockabout  life,  but  would 
not  deceive  people  as  to  my  true  condition.  This 
society  was  visited  by  me  on  the  following  day;  at 
which  place  I  was  informed  that  fifteen  subscription 
letters  would  be  required  for  my  purpose,  and  after 
paying  sixpence  for  a  subscription  book,  in  which 
were  the  names  and  addresses  of  several  thousand 
subscribers,  I  lost  no  time  in  buying  stamps  and  sta- 
tionery. Eighteen  letters  were  without  loss  of  time 
written  and  posted  to  their  destination.  These 
eighteen  succeeded  in  bringing  in  two  subscription 
letters,  several  letters  of  regret  from  people  who  had 
already  given  theirs  away;  several  of  my  letters  were 
returned  marked  "not  at  home,"  and  a  number  of 
them  elicited  no  response.  Twelve  more  letters  were 
quickly  despatched,  with  the  result  of  one  subscrip- 
tion letter.  To  be  able  to  do  this  I  was  forced  to  use 
the  small  weekly  allowance  that  I  had  been  making. 
In  six  weeks  I  had  written  nearly  a  hundred 
letters  and  was  still  several  letters  short  of  my  allot- 
ted number.  I  again  consulted  my  fellow  lodger, 
who  had  at  first  referred  me  to  the  Surgical  Aid  So- 
ciety, and  his  explanation  was,  undoubtedly,  reason- 
able and  true.  He  explained  that  not  only  was  the 
time  of  the  year  unfavourable,  it  being  summer,  and 
most  of  the  subscribers  were  away  from  home  on 
their  holidays — but,  unfortunately,  the  South  Afri- 
can war  was  still  in  progress,  and  numbers  of  sol- 

[219] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

diers  were  daily  returning  from  the  front  in  need 
of  artificial  assistance  one  way  or  another.  Al- 
though I  ruminated  with  some  bitterness  on  the  idea 
that  I  would  almost  pay  in  postage  the  value  of 
that  which  I  required,  before  it  became  mine,  I  still 
had  enough  common-sense  to  see  that  no  one  was 
actually  to  blame.  Several  letters  were  received, 
offering  to  assist  me  on  certain  conditions.  One 
lady  would  assist  on  a  clergyman's  recommendation, 
and  another  subscriber  would  have  no  other  than  a 
Roman  priest.  I  offered  to  get  these  ladies  a  Sal- 
vation Army  Officer's  recommendation,  which,  ap- 
parently, would  not  do,  for  our  correspondence  came 
to  an  end.  One  lady,  who  did  not  recognise  the 
house  of  Salvation  under  the  address  of  96  South- 
wark  Street,  regretted  that  she  had  already  given  her 
letters  away,  but  advised  me  to  go  to  the  Salvation 
Army,  who  would  most  certainly  attend  to  my  wants. 
I  explained  to  this  person  that  I  was  already  at  one 
of  their  places,  and  had  been  here  over  five  months; 
and  that  I  had  not  been  seen  drunk  in  the  place,  and 
that  my  behaviour  had  not,  at  any  time,  raised  ob- 
jections, also  that  I  was  on  the  most  friendly  terms 
with  the  officer  in  charge;  but  that  I  could  live  here 
for  many  years  to  come,  and  no  man  would  enquire 
my  wants  or  offer  to  assist  me. 

One  afternoon,  when  I  returned  to  the  Ark,  after 
having  been  out  all  day,  I  was  surprised  to  hear 
from  a  lodger  that  two  gentlemen  had  been  there 

[220] 


The  Ark 

that  afternoon  to  see  me.  After  which  another 
lodger  came  forward  with  the  same  information,  and 
still  another,  until  I  was  filled  with  curiosity  to 
know  who  those  gentlemen  could  be.  "What  did 
they  look  like?"  I  asked  one.  "Like  solicitors,"  he 
answered.  "What  kind  of  looking  men  were  they*?" 
I  asked  of  another.  "Very  much  like  lawyers,"  he 
answered  at  once.  "Don't  forget  to  remember  yer 
old  pals,"  chimed  in  another,  "when  yer  come  into 
the  property."  First  I  examined  my  mother's  side 
of  the  family,  and  then  my  father's,  but  could  find 
no  relative,  near  or  distant,  at  home  or  abroad,  whose 
death  would  be  likely  to  befriend  me.  At  last  I 
went  to  the  office,  but  found  this  place  closed,  the 
Lieutenant  being  out  walking,  and  the  Captain  not 
yet  having  arrived.  Never  in  my  life  did  I  have 
such  an  excitable  half  hour  as  this.  When  I  saw 
the  Captain  coming  forward,  smiling,  with  an  en- 
velope in  his  hand,  I  went  to  meet  him,  and,  taking 
the  letter  in  my  own  hand,  began  to  examine  its 
outside.  "Of  course,"  said  the  Captain,  "3^ou  know 
who  it  is  from?"  "Not  the  least  idea,"  I  said,  "how 
should  I?",  and  proceeded  to  open  it.  It  was  a 
short  note,  with  a  request  that  I  should  call  on  the 
Charity  Organisation,  between  the  hours  of  ten  and 
eleven  a.  m.  on  the  day  following.  The  Captain 
went  back  to  his  office,  and  I  sat  down,  thinking  of 
what  this  would  amount  to.  Again  I  decided  to 
consult  the  Canadian,  the  lodger  who  had  first  men- 

[221] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

tioned  to  me  the  Surgical  Aid  Society.  "As  to  that," 
said  this  man,  "it's  a  wonder  to  me  that  you  have 
not  run  foul  of  these  people  before  now.  My  friend, 
who  sells  papers  in  the  city,  was  continually  med- 
dled and  interfered  with  by  these  people,  but  they 
gave  him  no  assistance,  although  they  seemed  cu- 
rious to  know  all  about  him."  This  information 
surprised  me  not  a  little,  but  I  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  Canadian's  friend  was  addicted  to  drink 
and  other  bad  habits,  and  was  an  undeserving  case. 

The  next  morning  I  arose,  lighthearted  in  antici- 
pation of  hearing  something  to  my  good,  and  was 
leaving  the  house  when  I  saw  the  Captain  standing 
at  the  front  door.  Feeling  some  misgiving,  I  turned 
to  this  gentleman  and  asked  him  point  blank — 
what  was  his  opinion  of  the  Charity  Organisation. 
"Well,"  he  replied  slowly,  "to  give  you  my  candid 
opinion — although  I  may  be  mistaken — the  object 
of  the  Charity  Organisation  is  not  so  much  to  give 
alms,  as  to  prevent  alms  being  wasted."  How  I 
remembered  these  words  in  the  light  of  my  after 
experience  with  these  people! 

At  ten  o'clock  punctually,  I  was  at  their  office 
in  the  Borough  Road,  and  was  at  once  shown  into 
a  side  room,  where  I  sat  waiting  patiently,  for  an 
hour.  At  last  a  gentleman  in  black  came  forward, 
saying,  very  politely — "Mr.  Davies,  will  you  please 
come  this  way."  I  followed  him  up  two  or  three 
flights  of  stairs,  and  we  entered  a  quiet  room  on  the 

[222] 


The  Ark 

top  floor.  Seating  himself  at  a  table,  and  taking 
pencil  and  paper,  he  then  asked  me  to  be  seated 
and  began.  "Mr.  Davies,"  he  said,  "I  have  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  a  lady  who  has  become  inter- 
ested in  your  case,  and  wishes  to  better  your  con- 
ditions. So  as  to  answer  this  lady,  it  is  necessary 
to  know  something  of  yourself,  for  which  reason  I 
propose  asking  you  a  few  questions,  which,  of  course, 
you  need  not  answer  except  you  think  proper." 
This  he  proceeded  to  do,  at  the  same  time  making 
notes  of  my  answers.  After  answering  a  dozen  or 
more  questions  truthfully,  dealing  with  particulars 
of  my  family,  and  my  past  life — he  brought  the 
case  up  to  that  time.  ''Surely,"  he  said,  "you  do 
not  live  on  eight  shillings  a  week.  I  should  have 
thought  that  to  be  impossible."  "As  for  that," 
I  answered,  "not  only  has  that  sum  been  sufficient 
for  myself,  but  I  have  been  able  to  make  another 
an  allowance  of  two  shillings  a  week,  but  have  not 
been  able  to  do  so  since  I  applied  to  the  Surgical 
Aid  Society."  "Now  tell  me  what  is  the  matter 
with  that  leg^"  asked  this  gentleman.  "I  should 
have  thought  that  it  would  last  for  another  two 
years  at  least.  Excuse  me,  did  you  get  that  through 
the  Society?"  "No,"  I  said,  "it  cost  me  twelve 
pounds,  ten  shillings,  when  I  could  ill  afford  the 
money,  but,  unfortunately,  I  knew  nothing  then 
of  the  Surgical  Aid  Society."  "The  Society,  no 
doubt,   does  a  large  amount  of  good,"   continued 

[223] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

this  gentleman,  "but  I  don't  altogether  agree  with 
their  methods.  You  have  written  quite  a  number 
of  letters^"  he  asked;  "and  I  don't  suppose  any 
of  the  subscribers  helped  you  with  the  postage, 
sending  you  a  trifle  to  defray  expenses^"  At  this 
point  he  made  a  long  pause,  and  I  began  to  tell 
him  that  all  the  help  I  had  received  was  from  a 
gentleman  who,  having  no  letters  left  to  assist  me 
with,  had  very  considerately  sent  twelve  stamps  to 
help  my  correspondence.  The  Charity  Organisa- 
tion showed  much  interest  at  this  point  of  the  con- 
versation, and  said  that  he  thought  quite  a  number 
of  subscribers  would  have  done  the  same.  "As  I 
have  already  said,"  he  continued,  "I  don't  altogether 
agree  in  the  methods  of  the  Surgical  Aid  Society; 
their  cases  are  maintained  too  long  without  result, 
and  allows  too  good  an  opportunity  for  writing  beg- 
ging letters."  Not  even  now  could  I  see  the  drift 
of  this  man's  questions — that  he  suspected  me  of 
being  an  impostor,  of  writing  begging  letters.  Yes, 
I,  who  was  bitter  at  having  to  bear  all  this  expense, 
and  was  grieved  at  having  to  withhold  two  shillings 
a  week  from  one  who  was  very  poor,  so  that  I  might 
be  enabled  to  do  so.  "How  many  letters  do  you 
now  need?"  he  asked.  "Two,"  I  answered,  "but 
I  don't  intend  to  be  at  any  further  expense  in  post- 
age; I  will  take  in  what  letters  I  have  already  re- 
ceived, and  explain  to  the  Surgical  Aid  Society  the 
difficulty  I  have  had  in  trying  to  obtain  the  requisite 

[224] 


The  Ark 

number."  This  ended  our  interview,  and  I  went 
away  satisfied  that  the  Charity  Organisation  would 
come  to  my  rescue  in  the  near  future.  But  I  did 
not  again  hear  from  them  for  over  two  years,  which 
will  be  explained  in  another  chapter.  How  they 
answered  the  kind  lady  who  had  become  interested 
in  me,  I  cannot  say,  but  it  could  not  have  been 
other  than  to  my  discredit. 

The  day  following  this  interview,  three  letters 
were  at  the,  office,  all  three  coming  by  the  first 
post.  One  of  them  contained  a  subscription  letter, 
so  that  I  now  only  lacked  one  of  the  required  number. 
One  of  the  other  letters  came  from  the  Surgical  Aid 
Society,  saying  that  a  subscriber  had  forwarded  to 
them  a  letter  to  be  entered  to  my  account,  and  that 
if  I  would  call  at  their  office  with  the  letters  I  then 
had,  the  Society  would  make  up  the  number  defi- 
cient. The  required  number  was  now  made  up, 
without  having  need  to  draw  on  the  Society.  I 
now  took  these  letters  to  their  office,  and  in  a  day 
or  two  received  the  article  which  had  caused  me  so 
much  bother  in  writing  letter  after  letter,  and  such 
an  expense  in  postage.  By  a  sad  irony,  the  worry 
and  expense  was  by  no  means  at  an  end,  as  I  had 
expected.  People  were  now  returning  from  the 
continent,  and  other  places  where  they  had  spent 
their  summer  holidays.  Letters  came  to  me  daily 
from  people  returning  home.  Some  of  my  own 
letters,  which  had  been  posted  three,  four,  five  and 

[225] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

six  weeks  before,  were  now  being  considered,  Sev- 
eral subscription  letters  came  to  hand — too  late 
for  use.  Others  wrote  asking  if  I  was  still  in  need 
of  assistance.  I  was  now  at  as  great  an  expense  as 
ever,  returning  these  subscription  letters  with  thanks; 
and  writing  to  others  to  tell  them  that  I  had  now 
succeeded  in  obtaining  the  required  number.  Letters 
were  still  coming  when  I  left  the  Ark  for  the  coun- 
try; and,  it  was  told  me  afterwards,  that  a  goodly 
number  had  come,  been  kept  for  a  number  of  days, 
and  returned  during  my  absence. 

I  was  more  determined  than  ever  to  tramp  the 
country  until  I  was  worth  thirty  pounds,  for  an 
offer  had  again  been  made  by  a  publisher,  during 
my  stay  at  the  Ark,  and  this  offer  was  much  the 
same  as  the  other.  Seeing  that  there  was  no  other 
way  of  getting  this  amount  than  by  hawking  the 
country,  I  determined  to  set  out  as  soon  as  possible. 
So,  when  my  business  with  the  Surgical  Aid  Society 
was  at  an  end,  I  spent  three  or  four  shillings  on 
laces,  needles,  pins,  buttons,  etc.,  and  started  with 
a  light  heart  and  not  too  heavy  a  load.  The  Cana- 
dian, who  had  had  some  experience  in  this  kind  of 
life,  prophesied  good  results  from  it,  adding  that  a 
man  situated  the  same  way  as  I  was,  need  carry 
no  other  stock  in  trade  than  that  which  I  had  re- 
ceived from  the  Surgical  Aid  Society,  and  that  suc- 
cess was  assured,  on  that  very  account. 

[226] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

GRID  LING 

IT  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  September  when 
I  left  the  Ark  with  every  prospect  of  fulfilling 
this  mission.  As  I  advanced  towards  the  coun- 
try, mile  after  mile,  the  sounds  of  commerce  dying 
low,  and  the  human  face  becoming  more  rare,  I  lost 
for  the  time  being  my  vision  of  the  future,  being 
filled  with  the  peace  of  present  objects.  I  noted 
with  joy  the  first  green  field  after  the  park,  the  first 
bird  that  differed  from  the  sparrow,  the  first  stile 
in  the  hedge  after  the  carved  gate,  and  the  first 
footpath  across  the  wild  common  that  was  neither 
of  gravel  nor  ash.  I  had  something  like  nine  shill- 
ings in  my  pocket,  and  I  felt  that  business  was  out 
of  the  question  as  long  as  any  of  this  remained. 
Reaching  St.  Albans  on  the  first  night,  I  walked 
through  that  town,  and,  making  a  pillow  of  my  pack, 
lay  down  on  the  wild  common.  It  seemed  as  though 
extra  bodies  of  stars  had  been  drafted  that  night  into 
the  heavens  to  guard  and  honour  the  coming  of  age 
of  a  beautiful  moon.  And  this  fine  scene  kept  me 
awake  for  two  or  three  hours,  in  spite  of  tired 
limbs.     This  seemed  to  me  a  glorious  life,  as  long 

[227] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

as  summer  lasted  and  one  had  money  to  buy  food 
in  towns  and  villages  through  which  he  passed.  For 
three  or  four  days  I  walked  and  idled,  standing  on 
culverts  and  watching  the  water  burst  from  darkness 
into  light;  listening  to  the  birds;  or  looking  at  a 
distant  spire  that  was  high  enough,  and  no  more,  to 
show  that  a  quiet  town  was  lying  there  under  a 
thousand  trees. 

I  reached  Northampton,  and  it  was  in  this  town 
that  I  intended  to  start  business  on  the  following 
day,  though  I  still  had  a  few  shillings  left,  having 
slept  in  the  open  air  since  leaving  London.  With 
this  object  I  proceeded  to  examine  my  pack,  with 
the  intention  of  filling  my  pockets  with  the  differ- 
ent wares,  to  draw  them  forth  one  or  two  at  a  time, 
as  they  would  be  needed.  So,  that  night,  previous 
to  the  great  business  that  was  to  be  transacted  on 
the  following  day,  I  sought  a  quiet  corner  in  the 
lodging  house,  and  began  to  unroll  my  paper  parcel. 
As  I  proceeded  to  do  this,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
inner  part  of  the  parcel  was  damp,  and  then  I  re- 
membered the  two  or  three  heavy  showers  that  we 
had  on  the  second  day  of  my  travels.  On  a  further 
examination  I  discovered,  to  my  horror,  that  the 
goods  were  entirely  unfit  for  sale;  that  the  parcel 
had  been  so  bent  and  misshapen  one  way  and  the 
other,  during  my  night's  repose,  that  the  needles 
had  cut  through  their  rotten  packets,  and  were  stuck 
in  the  pin  papers,  and  that  a  great  number  of  pins 

[228] 


Gridling 

had  concealed  their  whole  bodies  in  the  needle  pack- 
ets, showing  plainly  the  guilty  tops  of  their  heads. 
The  laces  were  twisted  and  turned,  and  their  tags 
were  already  rusted.  This  was  a  great  blow  to  me, 
as  there  seemed  nothing  else  to  do  but  send  home 
for  the  few  shillings  that  had  now  become  due. 
But  on  second  thoughts  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
travel  without  stock  of  any  kind,  not  doubting  but 
what  I  would  rise  to  the  emergency  after  the  last 
penny  had  been  expended,  and  I  was  under  the  force 
of  necessity.  Thinking  Northampton  too  large  a 
town  in  which  to  starve,  I  determined  to  remain 
here  until  my  funds  were  exhausted,  when  despera- 
tion would  urge  me  to  action.  With  this  idea  I 
took  life  very  easily  for  a  couple  more  days,  even 
inviting  poverty  by  being  unusually  extravagant, 
going  to  the  extreme  of  buying  milk  for  my  tea. 
But  when  I  became  reduced  to  the  last  sixpence,  I 
decided  to  make  all  speed  to  Birmingham,  as  the 
resources  of  that  city,  it  being  so  much  larger,  would 
be  a  better  place  to  serve  my  wants. 

Starting  on  this  journey,  without  any  more  delay, 
I  was  soon  going  into  the  town  of  Rugby,  tired, 
penniless,  and  hungr}'.  What  was  I  to  do?  Some- 
thing had  to  be  done,  and  that  at  once.  I  had  to 
face  the  horrible  truth  that  I  was  now  on  the  verge 
of  starvation.  Whilst  busy  with  these  unpleasant 
thoughts,  I  heard  a  voice  shout  to  me  from  the 
roadside,  and,  looking  in  that  direction,  saw  a  man 

[229] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

sitting  in  the  grass,  eating  from  a  paper  parcel, 
which  was  half  spread  before  him.  On  going  over 
to  see  what  this  man  wanted,  I  found  an  apparently 
tall  man  and  large  in  proportion,  who  was  dressed 
in  seedy  looking  clothes,,  which  were  torn  and 
patched  in  a  good  many  places.  In  fact,  something 
seemed  to  have  been  gnawing  night  after  night  at 
the  bottom  of  his  trousers,  taking  advantage  of  him 
in  his  sleep,  for  these  hung  in  tatters  and  rags  just 
below  the  calves  of  his  legs.  The  man  had  a  frec- 
kled face,  which  was  almost  lost  in  an  abundance  of 
red  hair,  and  his  head  was  as  thick  with  the  same. 
What  helped  to  make  his  appearance  strange,  and 
perhaps  ridiculous,  was  a  schoolboy's  small  cap  to 
cover  the  crown  of  such  a  large  head.  ''Have  a 
mouthful  of  this,"  he  said,  inviting  me  to  partake 
of  some  bread  and  meat.  "It  is  dry  eating,  I  must 
say,  but,  as  we  go  into  Rugby,  we  can  wash  it  down 
with  a  pint  or  two  of  beer."  I  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness,  and,  accepting  his  invitation,  seated  myself 
on  the  grass.  "What's  in  your  bundle,"  he  asked, 
looking  askance  at  a  small  brown  paper  parcel, 
which  contained  a  clean  shirt,  socks  and  a  hand- 
kerchief, "are  you  selling  anything?"  I  explained 
to  him  that  I  was  a  licensed  hawker,  but  had  not 
yet  been  long  enough  at  the  business  to  make  a  suc- 
cess of  it.  "What,"  he  cried  with  some  surprise, 
"a  one  legged  man  not  to  be  successful?  I  get  all 
I  want  by  just  opening  of  my  mouth,"  although  he 

[230] 


Gridling 

added  with  some  scorn,  "I  know  that  some  people 
cannot  beg  unless  they  have  something  in  their  hands 
to  sell.  But  if  you  travel  with  me,  all  you  will 
have  to  do  is  to  pick  up  the  coppers." 

After  I  had  finished  eating,  he  proposed  to  set  off 
immediately;  and,  as  we  walked  leisurely  along,  I 
wondered  how  it  was  possible  for  a  big  healthy  fel- 
low like  this  to  be  able  to  exist  in  any  other  man- 
ner than  by  selling.  On  coming  to  the  first  public 
house  he  politely  invited  me  to  enter,  which  I  did, 
when  he  called  for  two  pints  of  beer  He  then 
became  communicative,  telling  me  he  was  a  gridler, 
and  a  good  one  too;  which  I  understood  to  mean 
a  grinder,  although  I  had  not  seen  tools  of  any 
description  either  in  his  hands  or  in  his  pockets. 
He  paid  for  two  or  three  pints  of  beer  in  quick 
succession,  and,  not  having  had  much  drink  for  a 
considerable  time,  I  began  to  feel  somewhat  elated, 
and  began  to  make  a  laughing  joke  of  my  circum- 
stances. "Now,"  said  this  man,  "to  business;  for 
we  must  get  the  price  of  our  beds  and  a  little  break- 
fast for  the  morning,  not  to  mention  the  night's 
supper.  All  you  have  to  do,"  he  said  again,  "is 
to  pick  up  the  coppers  as  they  come."  Wondering 
what  these  words  could  mean,  I  followed  him,  on 
this  pleasant  afternoon,  up  several  side  streets,  un- 
til we  came  to  the  end  of  one  very  long  street, 
which  had  respectable  looking  houses  on  either  side 
of  the  road.     My  strange  companion  walked  sev- 

[231] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

eral  yards  down  this  street,  and  then  came  to  a 
sudden  halt  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  "Now,"  said 
he,  for  the  third  or  fourth  time,  "all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  pick  up  the  coppers.  I  ask  you  to  do  no 
more;  except,"  he  added,  grinning  rather  unpleas- 
antly, "except  to  see  that  we  are  not  picked  up 
by  the  coppers."  His  joke  appeared  simple  enough, 
and  I  could  not  fail  to  understand  it,  but  it  was 
not  at  all  to  my  relish.  The  last  named  coppers 
were  police  officers,  who  would  be  likely  to  take  hold 
of  us  for  illegally  appropriating  the  copper  coins  of 
the  realm.  "Are  you  going  to  pick  up  the  cop- 
pers?" he  asked  a  little  impatiently,  seeing  me  stand- 
ing irresolute  and  undecided  as  to  what  to  do. 
Scarcely  knowing  how  to  ansM^r  him,  I  said  that 
if  I  saw  any  coppers  he  need  have  no  fear  but 
what  I  would  pick  them  up.  "All  right,  that's 
good,"  he  said,  at  the  same  time  moving  several 
feet  away  from  me.  I  stood  still  watching  these 
mysterious  movements,  and  thinking  of  the  coppers, 
wondering  from  what  source  they  would  be  supplied. 
He  now  turned  his  back,  without  more  ado,  and, 
setting  his  eyes  on  the  front  windows  before  him, 
began,  to  my  amazement,  to  sing  a  well  known 
hymn,  singing  it  in  the  most  horrible  and  lifeless 
voice  I  have  ever  heard.  In  spite  of  the  drink, 
which  had  now  taken  effect,  making  my  head  swell 
with  stupidity,  I  still  felt  an  overwhelming  shame 
at  finding  mysjelf  in  this  position.     I  stood  irresolute, 

[232] 


Gridling 

not  knowing  whether  to  wait  the  result  of  this, 
or  to  leave  him  at  once  with  short  ceremony.  But, 
whilst  ruminating  in  this  frame  of  mind,  I  heard  a 
window  open  with  a  loud  creak,  saw  the  shaking  of 
a  fair  hand,  and  then  heard  a  copper  coin  fall  on 
the  hard  earth  within  a  yard  of  where  I  stood. 
Being  penniless  I  was  nothing  loth  to  take  possession 
of  this  coin,  and  had  scarcely  done  so,  when  a  front 
door  opened  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  and  a 
fat  florid  old  gentleman  appeared  and  beckoned  me 
across  to  him.  Going  immediately  to  this  gentle- 
man, I  received  twopence  and,  after  thanking  him, 
joined  my  companion  in  the  road.  Now,  as  I  be- 
long to  a  race  of  people  that  are  ever  prone  to  song, 
whether  it  be  in  a  public  house  or  a  prayer  meet- 
ing, it  will  not  surprise  many  to  know  that  ere  long 
I  was  making  strong  attempts  to  sing  bass  to  this 
man's  miserable  treble,  and  only  ceased  to  do  so 
when  it  became  necessary  to  stoop  and  pick  up  the 
coppers,  which  continued  to  come  in  at  the  rate  of 
two  to  the  minute.  The  effect  of  my  voice  on  my 
companion  was  immediately  apparent.  His  limbs 
shook,  his  knees  bent  and  knocked  together,  and  his 
voice  quivered  and  quavered  with  a  strong  emotion. 
He  was  now  singing  another  well-known  hymn, 
better  known  perhaps  than  the  last;  and  what  with 
his  tall  form  bent  double  to  half  its  height,  and 
the  wringing  of  his  hands  in  despair — a  poor  wretch 
who  was  apparently  broken  both  in  body  and  spirit 

[233] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

— he  was,  at  this  particular  stage,  the  most  mis- 
erable looking  mortal  I  have  ever  beheld.  He  was 
in  this  old  man's  broken  attitude  when,  to  my  sur- 
prise, he  suddenly  straightened  his  great  body,  and 
gazed  about  one  second  down  the  street.  After 
which  he  quickly  turned  on  his  heels,  saying,  in 
short  peremptory  tones — "Quick  march,"  at  the  same 
time  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  in  sharp  mili- 
tary steps.  What  the  people,  in  their  different  win- 
dows, and  on  their  doors,  thought  of  this  change,  I 
cannot  say.  I  looked  down  the  street,  and  then  saw 
that  a  police  officer  had  just  turned  its  far  corner, 
and  was  coming  slowly  in  our  direction.  My  com- 
panion waited  for  me  at  our  end  of  the  street,  where 
I  joined  him  as  soon  as  possible.  "It  is  getting 
harder  every  day  for  a  poor  man  to  get  a  living," 
he  said,  when  I  stood  beside  him.  "Suppose  you 
count  the  earnings,"  he  said.  "We  work  together 
well."  On  doing  this,  I  found  twenty  pennies  to 
be  in  my  possession,  and,  at  his  suggestion,  we  there 
and  then  shared  them  alike.  "Friend,"  he  began, 
"before  we  commence  again,  let  me  give  you  a  word 
or  two  of  advice.  First  of  all,  you  sing  in  too  lusty 
a  voice,  as  though  you  were  well  fed,  and  in  good 
health.  Secondly,  you  are  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to 
move  on,  and  would  get  out  of  people's  hearing 
before  they  have  time  to  be  affected.  Try  to  sing 
in  a  weaker  voice:  draw  out  the  easy  low  notes  to 
a  greater  length,  and  cut  the  difficult  high  notes  short, 

[234] 


Gridling 

as  though  you  had  spasms  in  the  side.  Your  object 
is  to  save  your  voice  as  much  as  possible,  indiffer- 
ent to  the  demands  of  music,  or  the  spirit  of  the 
song.  When  we  start  in  another  street,"  he  contin- 
ued,— but  at  this  admonitory  point  I  cut  him  short, 
telling  him  that  I  had  had  enough  of — eh — gridling. 
"What,  enough  of  chanting'?"  he  cried  in  amaze. 
"Why,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is  the  best  thing  on  the 
road,  bar  none.  All  right,"  he  said,  seeing  my  de- 
termination not  to  make  a  fresh  start,  "we  will  make 
our  way  to  the  lodging  house:  it  is  not  far  from 
here." 

We  were  soon  comfortably  settled  in  this  place, 
and  when,  after  having  had  a  good  tea,  I  was  sitting 
smoking,  and  enjoying  a  newspaper,  I  felt  more 
pleased  than  ashamed  of  what  I  had  done;  for  I 
was  going  to  bed  with  an  easy  stomach,  and  had 
coppers  in  my  pocket  for  a  good  breakfast.  There- 
fore, when  a  fellow  lodger,  a  hawker,  who  was  now 
taking  an  inventory  of  his  wares,  and  who  had 
probably  seen  and  heard  us  singing  that  day,  when 
following  his  own  calling — when  this  man  enquired 
of  me  if  the  town  was  good  for  gridlers,  I  answered 
him  very  pleasantly  indeed,  that  there  was  nothing 
to  complain  of. 

After  breakfast,  the  next  morning,  my  companion 
of  the  preceding  day  proposed  putting  in  a  good 
eight  hours'  work,  but  I  at  once  cut  him  short  say- 
ing that  such  a  business  was  not  in  my  line.     Now, 

[235] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

several  women  were  at  this  place;  some  of  them 
were  married,  and  some  single,  and  most  of  them 
made  and  sold  fancy  work  of  embroidery.  After 
I  had  spoken  so  decisively  to  my  companion  he  had 
sat  near  to  one  of  these  women,  at  the  other  end 
of  the  kitchen.  This  woman,  who  seemed  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  knife  and  scissors  grinder,  had  a  little 
girl  of  about  seven  years  of  age.  "Yes,"  said  this 
woman,  in  answer  to  some  question  my  companion 
had  made,  "you  can  have  the  kid  all  day;  it's  not 
the  first  time,  by  a  long  way,  for  Mary  Ann  to  be 
used  by  gridlers,  and  she  knows  as  well  as  you 
what's  wanted  of  her."  Not  long  after  this  remark 
my  companion  and  the  woman's  child  left  the 
kitchen  together.  This  I,  subsequently,  often  saw 
done.  Almost  any  woman,  if  she  called  herself 
a  true  traveller,  would  lend  her  child  for  this  pur- 
pose; the  woman  or  child,  of  course,  deriving  some 
part  of  the  profit:  so  that  when  a  man  is  seen  with 
one  or  more  children,  it  is  not  always  to  be  granted 
that  he  is  the  father  of  them.  These  children  are 
rarely  subjected  to  ill  usage — except  that  of  enforced 
tramping — but  are  more  often  spoilt  by  indulgence, 
especially  if  they  show  early  signs  of  that  cunning 
which  is  needed  for  their  future,  and  which  is  the 
boast  of  their  parents. 

What  a  merry  lot  of  beggars  were  assembled 
here;  and  how  busy  they  all  seemed  to  be,  making 
articles  for  sale,   and  washing  and  mending  their 

[236] 


Gridling 

clothes  I  two  or  three  of  them  sitting  shirtless  during 
the  process  of  drying. 

It  has  become  a  common  expression  to  say  ''dirty 
tramp,"  or,  "as  dirty  as  a  tramp";  but  this  is  not 
always  true,  except  occasionally  in  the  large  cities; 
although  such  a  term  may  be  applied  morally  to 
them  all.  There  is  one  species  of  tramp  who  wan- 
ders from  workhouse  to  workhouse;  and  this  man, 
having  every  night  to  conform  strictly  to  the  laws 
of  cleanliness,  is  no  less  clean,  and  often  cleaner, 
than  a  number  of  people  whose  houses  contain  bath 
rooms  which  they  seldom  use.  Another  species  of 
tramp  is  proud  of  being  a  good  beggar,  who  scorns 
the  workhouse,  but  who  knows  well  that  a  clean  ap- 
pearance is  essential  to  his  success.  For  this  reason, 
any  one  that  enters  a  common  lodging  house  can  at 
once  see  what  efforts  are  being  made  to  this  end. 
It  seems  strange  to  say,  but  the  dirtiest  looking 
tramp  is  often  the  most  honest  and  respectable,  for 
he  has  not  the  courage  to  beg  either  food  or  clothes, 
nor  will  he  enter  the  doors  of  a  workhouse.  I  have 
seen  this  so  often  the  case  that  I  would  much  prefer 
to  believe  a  dirty  ragged  tramp  who  might  tell  me 
that  he  had  a  good  home  six  months  previous,  than 
to  believe  his  cleaner  namesake,  who  seems  so  eager 
to  impart  this  information  unsolicited.  It  is  cer- 
tainly the  man  who  has  had  a  good  home,  and  has 
been  waited  on  by  other  hands,  who  soon  succumbs 
to  a  filthy  condition,  when  it  becomes  necessary  to 

[237] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

wait  on  himself  by  washing  and  patching  his  own 
clothes;  and  the  higher  his  former  position  has  been 
the  lower  he  sinks  in  the  social  strata. 

It  is  no  difficult  matter  to  get  company  when 
travelling.  The  pedlar,  whom  I  have  mentioned 
before,  asked  me  if  I  was  going  towards  Coventry, 
and  if  I  intended  to  do  business  on  the  road.  To 
this  question  I  answered  that  such  might  be  the  case, 
but  I  could  not  say  for  sure — at  the  same  time 
knowing  that  it  was  very  unlikely.  "Come  along 
then,"  he  said,  "and  do  business  if  you  feel  inclined; 
but,  I  warn  you,  it  is  a  very  poor  road  for  a  gridler." 
We  started  at  once,  and,  in  the  course  of  our  journey 
I  told  him  everything — my  first  experience  of  grid- 
ling  and  my  dislike  to  it,  and  how  my  wares  had 
been  spoilt  by  the  rain,  which  had  prevented  me, 
through  having  no  stock,  nor  money  to  buy  it,  from 
earning  my  living  in  a  respectable  manner  as  a 
pedlar.  "Of  course,"  he  said,  "you  have  a  pedlar's 
certificate*?"  I  answered  him  in  the  affirmative, 
and  added  that  I  had  not  earned  one  penny  with 
it  up  to  that  moment. 

As  we  jogged  along  talking  in  this  way,  we  came 
to  a  small  village,  when  the  pedlar,  stopping  short, 
asked  if  I  would  like  to  help  him  to  do  a  little  trade. 
Knowing  that  something  had  to  be  done,  as  I  had 
but  twopence  halfpenny  in  my  pocket,  I  assured 
him  that  I  would.  Hearing  this  he  took  two  bun- 
dles of  laces  from  his  pack,  leather  and  mohair,  and 

[238] 


Gridling 

placed  them  in  my  hands,  at  the  same  time  saying — 
"You  work  on  one  side  of  the  village  and  I'll  attend 
to  the  other."  I  passed  several  houses  before  I  had 
the  courage  to  knock  at  their  doors,  but  seeing  him 
go  calmly  from  door  to  door,  I  nerved  myself  to 
follow  his  example,  and  was  soon  doing  the  same, 
and,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  was  meeting  with  more 
success.  This  so  encouraged  me  that  I  was  soon 
regretting  that  I  had  no  more  houses  left  on  my  side 
of  the  village.  But,  instead  of  waiting  patiently 
until  he  had  done,  I  took  a  desperate  notion  and 
went  back  to  the  houses  which  I  had  at  first  passed. 
After  this  we  jogged  on  towards  Coventry,  which 
we  reached  that  evening. 

We  worked  Coventry  together  for  four  or  five 
days,  and  the  result  was  nine  shillings  and  some 
odd  pence  in  my  pocket.  This  pedlar  was  going 
to  spend  a  week  or  two  with  a  brother  in  Birming- 
ham, whom  he  had  not  seen  for  a  number  of  years. 
But,  before  we  left  Coventry,  he  persuaded  me  to 
stock  myself  with  three  shillings'  worth  of  stuff,  and, 
said  he,  "never  let  a  day  pass  you  without  doing 
some  business,  however  little;  and  never  allow  your 
stock  to  get  low."  We  reached  Birmingham,  and, 
after  he  had  shown  and  recommended  a  lodging 
house,  he  wished  me  good-bye,  with  many  hopes  that 
we  might  meet  again. 

As  usual,  my  first  enquiry  after  I  had  settled 
for  my  lodgings,  was  for  the  public  library.     This 

[239] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

place  I  found  so  much  to  my  liking,  what  with  its 
variety  of  journals,  its  number  of  papers,  and  so 
much  comfort  and  accommodation  for  its  visitors — 
that  business  was  entirely  out  of  the  question  until 
the  third  day,  when  I  woke  to  the  awkward  fact 
that  my  last  three  coppers  were  then  being  spent 
on  a  meal.  At  this  I  made  up  my  mind  to  hawk 
on  the  outskirts  of  Birmingham  for  a  month  or 
more,  so  that  my  evenings  might  be  enjoyed  in  its 
library.  But,  apparently,  I  was  not  cut  out  for 
this  kind  of  business.  Hawking  required  a  perse- 
verance which  I  certainly  did  not  possess.  For  when 
a  person  declined  to  make  a  purchase,  instead  of 
crying  up  the  cheapness  of  my  wares,  I  walked  away 
dumbfounded  to  the  next  house.  Yes,  the  success 
or  ill  success  of  this  buying  and  selling  was  all  a 
simple  matter  of  tongue.  A  big  able-bodied  fellow, 
with  a  persistent  tongue,  can  talk  charity  out  of 
the  people  who  indifferently  pass  the  silent  blind 
man.  Of  course  this  business  of  hawking  with  a 
few  cheap  laces,  and  a  few  packets  of  common  pins 
or  needles,  was  after  all  only  another  name  for  beg- 
ging, and  it  was  well  for  us  that  the  people  knew  it, 
for  they  often  paid  for  what  they  declined  to  receive. 
They  knew  that  these  things  were  to  be  had  much 
cheaper  at  a  store.  In  exoneration  of  this  fraudu- 
lent selling,  a  man  was  expected  to  tell  some  tale  of 
distress.  This  I  found  difficulty  in  doing,  except 
on  being  asked  direct  questions;   and   the  people 

[240] 


Gridling 

would  often  stand  after  refusing  to  purchase  with 
their  hands  in  their  pockets  ready  to  assist  on  the 
first  confession  of  distress.  The  number  of  times 
people  have  called  me  back,  after  I  have  left  their 
doors,  and  assisted  me,  has  often  proved  to  me  how 
they  have  waited  to  have  their  first  feelings  of  pity 
strengthened  by  some  recital  of  poverty.  No  doubt 
there  was  some  sort  of  a  living  to  be  made  in  this 
way,  providing  a  man  talked  incessantly  and  went 
for  hours  from  house  to  house,  and  from  street  to 
street;  and  when  he  failed  in  the  line  of  business 
to  plead  for  the  sake  of  charity.  It  must  have 
been  over  two  hours  and  my  takings  had  amounted 
to  ninepence,  nearly  all  profit  I  admit.  Looking 
at  this  paltry  amount  I  now  reversed  my  former 
opinion  as  to  the  resources  of  a  large  city,  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  small  country  towns 
and  villages  were  after  all  more  willing,  if  not  bet- 
ter able,  to  support  me.  Therefore,  instead  of  re- 
turning to  the  city  I  took  the  road  towards  Warwick, 
intending  when  I  reached  that  town  to  use  my  tongue 
to  some  purpose.  And  how  many  houses  have  I 
visited  with  this  same  resolution,  but,  alas,  many 
of  the  towns  were  passed  through  without  any  one 
hearing  the  sound  of  my  voice. 


[241] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ON    THE    DOWNRIGHT 

ON  my  way  towards  Warwick  I  joined  com- 
pany with  a  grinder,  and  we  travelled  so- 
cially together  towards  that  ancient  town. 
When  we  arrived,  we  lost  no  time  in  seeking  a 
lodging  house,  which  we  soon  found,  but,  to  my  sur- 
prise, the  landlady,  a  big  raw-boned,  slatternly 
woman  said,  looking  sternly  at  my  companion:  "I 
will  have  no  grinders  in  my  house."  Of  course, 
I  did  not  know  at  that  time  what  I  have  heard 
subsequently.  Of  all  the  men  on  the  road,  follow- 
ing various  occupations,  the  grinder  is,  I  believe, 
the  most  thoroughly  detested.  As  a  rule  he  is  a 
drunken  dissolute  fellow,  a  swearer,  and  one  who, 
if  he  picks  up  a  quarrel,  which  is  usually  the  case, 
is  in  no  hurry  to  drop  it.  The  more  unpretentious 
lodgers  hate  his  presence,  seeing  that  he  makes  him- 
self more  at  home  than  the  landlord  himself.  I 
have  often  heard  travellers  tell  of  a  small  village 
in  the  north  of  England,  which  grinders  dare  not 
enter,  pass  through  or  lodge  therein  for  the  night, 
and  it  is  the  regret  of  many  travellers  that  there 
are  not  more  villages  of  its  kind  distributed  through- 

[242] 


On  the  Downright 

out  the  country.  It  seems  that  some  years  ago,  a 
great  wind  had  visited  that  particular  town,  and 
floored  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  grounded  the 
church  steeple,  many  of  the  inhabitants  being  in- 
jured, and  not  a  few  killed.  Now,  it  happened 
that  the  day  following  this  great  disaster,  two  un- 
fortunate grinders,  who  had  arrived  in  town  the 
night  before,  and  slept  at  the  village  inn,  appeared 
in  the  streets  and  made  a  great  shout  in  soliciting 
orders.  Some  way  or  another  the  inhabitants  con- 
nected these  poor  wretches  with  the  great  wind,  and 
set  upon  them,  and  proceeded  to  beat  them  out  of 
the  town,  coming  near  to  killing  them;  and,  since 
that  day  the  town  has  been  visited  by  neither  grinders 
nor  great  winds.  Even  in  larger  towns  these  people 
often  experience  great  difficulty  in  procuring  lodg- 
ings. This  state  of  affairs  was  not  known  to  me 
at  this  time,  or  I  should  certainly  not  have  been 
anxious  for  the  company  of  one  of  these  despised 
people. 

We  were  admitted  at  the  next  lodging  house,  but 
even  here  the  landlady  seemed  to  have  some  com- 
punction at  so  doing;  for  she  followed  us  to  the 
kitchen  and  without  saying  a  word,  placed  her  two 
hands  on  her  broad  hips,  at  the  same  time  looking 
severely  at  my  grinder,  as  much  as  to  say — "If  you 
are  going  to  start  any  of  your  capers,  let  it  be  at 
once,  my  hearty  grinder,  now  I  am  watching  you, 
and   we'll   soon   see   who's   who."     We   sat   down 

[243] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

quietly,  and  the  landlady,  thinking  that  this  atti- 
tude had  had  its  desired  effect,  left  the  kitchen, 
not  forgetting  to  throw  a  last  glance  at  my  grinder, 
who  was  trying  his  best  to  hide  his  nervousness  by 
puffing  hard  at  his  pipe  and  nearly  choking  in  the 
attempt. 

Some  ten  or  fifteen  men  were  in  this  room,  some 
of  them  busy  preparing  work  for  the  next  day. 
Two  were  busy  making  artificial  flowers;  one  was 
working  with  copper  wire,  turning  and  twisting  it 
into  toasting  forks,  plate  holders,  and  hangers  to 
suspend  flower  pots.  Two  others  were  in  the  rag 
and  bone  trade,  for  I  had  seen  them  when  I  first 
entered,  overlooking  their  stuff  in  the  backyard. 
One  man  was  a  pedlar,  for  there  was  his  pack,  to- 
wards which  he  often  turned  his  eyes,  in  distrust 
of  his  company.  One  was  a  musician,  for  there, 
sticking  out  of  the  top  pocket  of  his  coat,  was  a 
common  tin  whistle.  "There,"  said  I  to  myself, 
glancing  at  a  man  on  my  right  hand — "here  is  the 
only  respectable  working  man  among  them  all." 
This  man  had  on  a  clean  moleskin  pair  of  trousers, 
a  pilot  cloth  coat,  and  on  his  neck  a  large  clean  white 
muffler.  "Grinder?"  asked  this  man,  catching  my 
eye  before  I  could  avoid  it.  "No,"  I  answered,  "a 
pedlar."  "Oh,"  said  he,  "I  didn't  notice  you  carry- 
ing a  pack  when  you  came  in."  Alas!  my  little 
stock  could  easily  be  carried  in  my  pockets.  "No," 
I  answered,  "as  a  rule  I  don't  carry  much  stock." 

[244] 


On  the  Downright 

"I  shouldn't  think  you  would,"  he  said,  glancing 
at  my  leg,  "a  bible  ought  to  be  enough  for  you,  and 
a  good  living  too."  Now  it  happened  that  when 
I  left  London,  I  had  made  room  in  my  pockets  for 
two  books  which,  up  till  that  time,  I  had  very  little 
opportunity  of  reading.  One  was  the  bible,  and  the 
other  was  a  small  printed  and  cheap  paper  cover  edi- 
tion of  Wordsworth.  So,  hearing  this  man  mention 
a  bible,  I  became  extremely  curious  to  learn  how  a 
man  could  earn  a  living  by  carrying  a  book  of  this 
kind.  Seeking  this  information  I  said  to  this  man — 
"I  shouldn't  think  that  there  was  much  money  to 
be  made  by  carrying  a  bible."  "Why  not,"  he 
asked;  "if  you  carry  in  your  hand  a  decent  rake 
(a  comb),  a  flashy  pair  of  sniffs  (scissors)  and  a 
card  of  good  links  and  studs — that  is  certainly  a 
good  bible  for  a  living;  but  there  is  not  much  profit 
in  a  pair  of  stretchers  (laces)  or  a  packet  of  common 
sharps  (needles).  As  for  me,"  he  continued,  "I  am 
on  the  downright,  and  I  go  in  for  straight  begging, 
without  showing  anything  in  my  hand.  That  grin- 
der, whom  I  thought  you  were  with,  and  am  glad 
you  are  not,  works  very  hard  at  dragging  that  old 
ricketty  contrivance  with  him  all  over  the  country; 
and  is  he  any  better  off  than  I  am?  I  never  fail  to 
get  the  sixteen  farthings  for  my  feather  (bed),  I 
get  all  the  scrand  (food)  I  can  eat;  and  I  seldom 
lie  down  at  night  but  what  I  am  half  skimished  (half 
drunk),  for  I  assure  you  I  never  go  short  of  my 

[245] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

skimish."  Being  curious  to  see  this  man  at  work, 
and  to  hear  the  tales  with  which  he  approached 
people,  I  told  him  I  would  accompany  him  the  next 
day  as  far  as  Stratford,  that  was  if  he  had  no  objec- 
tion to  my  company,  as  I  also  intended  to  visit  that 
town  before  I  made  my  way  towards  London.  To 
this  proposal  he  seemed  perfectly  agreeable. 

The  next  morning  arrived  and  after  having  had 
breakfast,  we  set  out.  We  had  scarcely  set  foot 
outside  the  lodging  house,  when  I  saw  this  down- 
righter  dodge  in  and  out  of  shops  with  an  astonish- 
ing alacrity,  more  like  a  customer  than  a  beggar; 
but  with  what  success  I  could  not  tell.  He  seemed 
to  go  in  smiling,  and  to  come  out  the  same,  until 
we  were  at  last  at  the  business  end  of  the  town. 
He  did  not  confide  in  me  as  to  his  success  or  failure; 
but  generously  invited  me  to  a  smoke.  We  filled 
our  pipes,  but  just  as  I  was  about  to  strike  a  match, 
my  companion  interrupted  me  with — "Wait  until 
we  are  on  the  other  side  of  the  sky  pilot."  Looking 
down  the  road  I  saw  a  clergyman  approaching  us 
at  a  fast  rate,  carrying  something  in  his  hand  which 
proved  on  nearer  view  to  be  a  book  of  prayers. 
When  this  black  cloth  was  within  three  or  four  feet 
of  us,  my  companion  began  to  address  him  in  a  very 
serious  voice,  calling  him  in  his  ignorance,  or  per- 
haps, excitement — "your  reverend  highness."  The 
gentleman  in  black  cloth  seemed  to  have  been  ex- 
pecting something  of  this  kind,  for,  without  turning 

[246] 


On  the  Downright 

his  head  either  to  the  right  or  left,  he  passed  on, 
going  if  possible,  at  a  greater  speed.  On  seeing 
which  my  companion  shouted  in  a  jeering  voice — 
"Go  it,  old  hearty,  and  remember  me  in  yer  prayers." 
As  we  proceeded  on  our  way  he  laughed  immoder- 
ately. "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  have  always  found  a 
bible  or  a  prayer  book  in  a  person's  hand  to  be  the 
sign  of  an  uncharitable  disposition.  Seldom  do  I 
get  anything  from  them,  but  I  like  to  pester  them. 
Now,  if  this  had  been  a  man  with  a  bottle,  or  jug 
of  beer  in  his  hand,  I  would  have  had  a  civil  answer 
at  the  very  least."  The  indifference  of  this  reverend 
gentleman,  and  the  experience  my  companion  seemed 
to  have  had  of  this  kind  in  general,  surprised  me 
not  a  little;  for  this  man  I  was  with  certainly  had 
the  appearance  of  an  honest  working  man  of  the  bet- 
ter class;  his  clothes  were  good,  and  his  flesh  was 
clean,  and  he  certainly  had  not  forgotten  the  bar- 
ber. 

My  companion  allowed  no  person  to  pass  us  with- 
out making  an  appeal,  and  it  was  made  apparent 
to  me  that  he  was  successful  in  a  number  of  cases. 
In  times  of  failure  people  listened  to  this  respecta- 
ble looking  fellow,  and  regretted  that  they  had  left 
home  without  having  brought  coppers  with  them. 
At  one  time  we  saw  a  man  who  had  dismounted  to 
examine  his  bicycle,  probably  having  heard  some 
part  of  it  go  click  and  fearing  an  accident,  had  paused 
for  an  investigation.     We  stood  before  this  man,  and 

[247] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

my  companion  in  straightforward,  manly  tones, 
asked  him  for  assistance.  The  gentleman  began  to 
stammer,  to  hem  and  to  haw,  at  the  same  time  say- 
ing that  he  regretted  that  he  was  not  at  that  mo- 
ment  exactly    in    the   position    to "Friend," 

broke  in  my  bold  downrighter,  in  a  stern  solemn 
voice,  laying  his  heavy  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder ; 
"friend,  you  see  before  you  two  men  in  extreme  want, 
who  must  be  relieved  in  this  very  hour."  We  were 
standing  in  the  man's  way,  and  he  could  not  possibly 
escape  without  knocking  us  over.  Apparently  the 
man  was  afraid,  for  he  first  looked  at  our  faces,  and 
after  looking  backward  and  then  forward,  he  pro- 
duced a  silver  sixpence,  saying  he  trusted  that  that 
amount  would  be  of  some  service  to  us.  We  made 
sure  of  this  and  then  cleared  ourselves  from  his  path, 
allowing  him  space  to  mount  and  ride,  an  oppor- 
tunity of  which  he  quickly  availed  himself.  This 
looked  very  much  like  highway  robbery,  but 
strangely,  I  was  better  satisfied  at  this  open  inde- 
pendent way  of  transacting  business  than  by  whining 
forth  pitiful  tales  of  want,  however  true  they  might 
be. 

We  were  now  entering  the  town  of  Stratford-on- 
Avon,  and  my  companion  was  advising  me  as  to 
my  behaviour  at  the  common  lodging  house.  "It 
is  the  only  lodging  house  in  the  town,"  he  said, 
"and  the  old  lady  is  very  particular  and  eccentric. 
Our  very  appearance  may  dissatisfy  her,  and  then 

[248] 


On  the  Downright 

we  will  be  compelled  to  walk  some  miles  to  the 
next  town.  She  keeps  a  shop  attached  to  the  lodging 
house,"  continued  the  downrighter,  "and  if  strangers, 
not  knowing  this  to  be  the  case,  when  applying  for 
lodgings,  have  bread,  tea,  sugar,  meat,  etc.,  in  their 
hands,  that  is  bought  elsewhere,  this  eccentric  old 
landlady  declines  to  receive  them  as  lodgers,  and 
they  are  forced,  often  late  at  night,  to  walk  to  the 
next  town.  Some  time  ago,"  he  continued,  "a 
lodger  bought  at  her  shop  a  half  pound  of  cornbeef, 
which  he  thought  was  underweight.  Going  to  the 
public  house  opposite  for  a  glass  of  beer,  he  requested 
the  publican  to  weigh  this  meat,  which  being  done, 
it  was  found  to  be  two  ounces  short  of  the  required 
weight.  On  returning  to  the  house  this  lodger  went 
quietly  to  bed,  but  the  next  morning  he  spoke  his 
mind  to  her  in  a  very  straightforward  manner,  mak- 
ing mention  of  the  publican  as  a  witness.  Ever 
since  that  time,  any  man  who  visits  that  public  house 
is  not  allowed  to  sleep  on  her  premises.  If  seen 
entering  that  place  by  day,  they  are  objected  to  at 
night,  and  if  seen  visiting  that  house  after  their 
beds  are  already  paid  for,  on  their  return  their  money 
is  at  once  refunded  without  the  least  explanation." 
It  certainly  spoke  highly  for  our  respectable  ap- 
pearance when  this  particular  landlady  received  our 
money,  and  admitted  us  without  much  scrutiny  into 
the  kitchen;  although  she  lost  no  time  in  following 
us  there,  and  stood  for  several  minutes  watching  our 

[249] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

movements.  No  doubt  if  one  of  us  had  thrown 
a  match  on  the  floor,  or  sat  too  near  the  fire ;  or  com- 
plained that  the  kitchen  only  contained  two  tea  pots, 
cracked  and  half  spoutless,  among  the  ten  lodgers 
now  patiently  waiting  a  chance  to  make  tea;  and 
that  there  were  only  three  cups,  and  one  half  rimmed 
plate  like  a  vanishing  moon — no  doubt  if  we  had 
uttered  one  complaint,  our  money  would  have  been 
returned  without  advice  or  warning,  and  we  would 
have  found  no  other  lodgings  that  would  have  an- 
swered our  small  means  in  the  town.  But  we  for- 
tunately knew  the  old  lady  too  well  to  implicate  our- 
selves and  we  gave  her  no  chance  to  complain. 

After  tea  I  wandered  alone  about  the  town,  and 
as  I  went  here  and  there  in  this  enchanted  place, 
ambition  again  took  possession  of  me,  stronger  than 
ever.  It  filled  me  with  vexation  to  think  that  I 
was  no  nearer  my  object,  for  I  was,  comparatively 
speaking,  penniless.  Two  months  had  I  wandered, 
during  which  time  I  had  not  been  able  to  concen- 
trate my  thoughts  on  any  noble  theme,  taking  all 
day  to  procure  the  price  of  a  bed,  and  two  or  three 
coppers  extra  for  food.  True  I  had  by  now  some 
three  pounds  saved,  the  income  that  I  had  not 
touched,  but  at  this  rate,  I  would  never  be  able  to 
attain  my  ends.  November  was  here,  and  I  was 
suddenly  confronted  with  a  long  winter  before  me, 
and  I  pictured  myself  starved  and  snow  bound  in 
small  out  of  the  way  villages,  or  mercilessly  pelted 

[250I 


On  the  Downright 

by  hailstones  on  a  wild  shelterless  heath.  Side  by 
side  with  these  scenes  I  placed  my  ideal,  which  was 
a  small  room  with  a  cosy  fire,  in  which  I  sat  sur- 
rounded by  books,  and  I  sickened  at  the  comparison. 
The  following  morning  I  was  up  and  on  my  way 
before  the  downrighter  had  put  in  an  appearance. 
In  two  or  three  days  I  was  again  back  on  the  out- 
skirts of  London,  walking  it  round  in  a  circle;  some- 
times ten  miles  from  its  mighty  heart,  or  as  far  dis- 
tant as  twenty  miles;  but  without  the  courage  to 
approach  nearer,  or  to  break  away  from  it  altogether. 
Whatever  luck  I  had  good  or  bad,  I  always  managed 
to  escape  the  workhouse;  and  was  determined  to 
walk  all  night,  if  needs  be,  rather  than  seek  refuge 
in  one  of  those  places.  One  desperate  hour  pos- 
sessed me  every  day,  sometimes  in  the  morning,  or 
in  the  afternoon,  but  more  often  in  the  evening,  when 
I  would  waylay  people  on  the  high  roads,  go  boldly 
to  the  front  doors  of  houses,  interview  men  in  their 
gardens,  stables  or  shops  at  the  same  time  flourishing 
before  their  eyes  a  whip  of  a  dozen  laces.  In  this 
hour  I  seemed  to  be  impelled  by  a  fatality  like  that 
of  the  wandering  Jew,  cursed  at  having  to  perform 
something  against  my  will.  When  this  mad  fit  was 
at  an  end,  during  which  I  generally  succeeded  in  get- 
ting a  shilling  or  more,  people  might  then  come  and 
go  without  fear  of  being  molested,  for  I  was  satisfied 
that  the  workhouse  was  once  more  defeated  for 
another  night. 


'b' 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

One  morning  at  the  beginning  of  December,  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  tramp  home  for  Christmas. 
This  was  a  new  idea,  and  not  much  to  my  hking, 
for  I  had  always  written  them  hopeful  letters,  and 
although  they  knew  that  I  had  left  London,  they 
knew  nothing  of  my  present  condition.  As  usual, 
under  these  active  impulses  I  made  astonishing  prog- 
ress, being  on  the  borders  of  Wales  in  less  than  a 
week.  The  greater  part  of  the  journey  accom- 
plished, being  now  less  than  thirty  miles  from  my 
native  town,  I  regretted  having  started  with  such  an 
intention,  and  tramped  over  the  Welsh  Hills  day 
after  day,  ultimately  finding  my  way  to  Swansea. 
I  did  not  remain  long  in  that  town,  but  began  other 
rambles,  and  the  day  before  Christmas  eve,  was  in 
a  town  twenty-seven  miles  from  home;  sleeping  there 
that  night  I  rose  early  the  following  morning  and 
started  for  home.  Keeping  up  a  pace  of  three  miles 
an  hour,  in  spite  of  the  one  leg  and  the  rough  un- 
even roads  of  the  hills,  I  accomplished  the  journey 
in  nine  hours,  arriving  home  just  after  dark,  without 
having  once  rested  on  the  way. 

I  had  now  been  tramping  for  over  three  months 
and  thought  myself  entitled  to  a  little  rest,  if  such 
could  be  had.  After  all,  why  had  I  done  this,  and 
to  what  end  had  I  suffered^  For  I  would  now  draw 
the  few  pounds  that  were  due  to  me,  would  return 
to  London  in  a-  week  or  two,  and  would  again  com- 
mence writing  without  any  prospect  of  success,  for  I 

[252] 


On  the  Downright 

would  once  more  be  living  on  a  small  income.  And 
such  was  the  case:  three  weeks'  comfort  improved 
me  wonderfully  and  vitality  returned  stronger  than 
ever  after  the  low  state  into  which  it  had  fallen. 
What  cut  me  to  the  heart  was  not  so  much  that  I 
had  not  practised  writing  during  these  four  months, 
but  that  I  had  been  forced  to  neglect  reading  and 
had  therefore  been  taking  in  no  means  to  justify 
my  hopes  in  the  future  of  being  capable  of  writing 
something  of  my  own.  The  poor  man,  who  has  his 
daily  duties  to  perform,  has  his  quiet  evenings  at 
home,  with  friends  to  lend  him  books,  and  being 
known  in  the  locality,  a  library  from  which  to  bor- 
row them,  but  what  privileges  has  the  wanderer? 

Feeling  myself  fit,  I  drew  what  money  was  due  to 
me  and  returned  to  London. 


[253] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    FARMHOUSE 

YES,  I  returned  to  London,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise, began  to  look  forward  with  pleasure 
to  be  again  frequenting  the  old  haunts  for 
which,  when  leaving  I  had  felt  so  much  disgust. 
This  feeling  seems  to  be  natural;  that  I  felt  inclined 
to  see  familiar  faces,  although  they  were  red  and 
blotchy  with  drink;  to  hear  familiar  voices,  however 
foul  their  language  might  be.  Therefore,  on  the  first 
night  of  my  return  wonder  not  when  I  say  that  I 
was  sitting  comfortably  in  the  Ark,  as  though  I  had 
not  slept  one  night  away.  I  looked  in  vain  for 
my  old  friend  the  Canadian.  Many  recognised  and 
spoke  to  me.  One  in  particular,  a  toy  seller,  who 
was  curious  to  know  where  I  had  been.  Seeing  that 
he  suspected  that  I  had  been  incarcerated  in  a  jail, 
I  told  him  something  of  my  wanderings,  and  ended 
by  making  enquiries  of  him  as  to  the  whereabouts 
of  the  Canadian.  Of  this  man  he  knew  nothing, 
but  gave  information  that  "Cronje,"  the  fish  porter, 
another  of  my  acquaintances,  was  staying  at  the 
Farmhouse,  and  no  doubt  would  be  glad  to  see  me, 

[254] 


The  Farmhouse 

he  having  been  at  the  Ark  to  enquire  of  me  during 
my  absence.  Of  course  it  was  not  my  intention  to 
stay  long  at  the  Ark,  so  I  at  once  made  my  way  to 
the  Farmhouse,  to  see  "Cronje,"  where  I  found  him. 
The  Farmhouse  is  very  particular  about  taking 
in  strangers,  which  certainly  makes  it  a  more  de- 
sirable place  than  others  of  its  kind;  but,  at 
"Cronje's"  recommendation,  I  was  without  much 
ceremony  accepted  as  a  lodger.  This  man,  nick- 
named "Cronje,"  who  had  been  for  a  number  of 
years  in  Australia,  and  had  so  many  wonderful  an- 
ecdotes to  relate,  was  a  sharp  little  man,  the  very 
image  of  a  Jew  in  features,  but  fair,  red,  always 
happy  and  laughing,  for  a  contradiction.  He  was 
clean  in  his  habits,  extremely  generous  to  the  poorer 
lodgers,  and  was  well  liked  by  all.  It  is  true  that 
many  considered  him  to  be  a  liar;  but  no  man  con- 
tradicted him,  for  no  man  was  capable  of  talking 
him  down.  In  his  early  days  he  had  had  a  phe- 
nomenal voice,  which  he  claimed  to  have  lost  through 
auctioneering.  As  a  rower  he  had  defeated  all  com- 
ers on  the  river  Murrumbidgee,  and  had  publicly 
disgraced  the  champion  of  Wagga  Wagga  at  bil- 
liards. On  seeing  a  man  taking  a  hair  out  of  his 
food,  Cronje  declaimed  on  the  danger  of  swallowing 
this,  relating  how  his  friend  Skinner  of  Australia — 
who  had  taken  down  all  the  best  fencers  of  Europe 
— had  swallowed  a  single  hair  which,  taking  root 
in  his  stomach,  had  grown  to  such  a  length  that 

[^55] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

it  had  killed  him  before  an  operation  could  be 
performed.  Again:  hearing  some  one  mention  the 
names  of  two  famous  singers,  one  a  tenor  and  the 
other  basso,  Cronje,  eager  to  create  wonder,  said 
that  it  was  a  most  remarkable  case  that  the  tenor 
had  at  first  become  famous  as  a  basso,  and  that  the 
basso  had  at  first  received  recognition  as  a  tenor,  and 
that  each  man's  voice  had  changed  after  he  had  be- 
come famous. 

What  a  strange  house  was  this,  so  full  of  quaint 
characters.  Some  of  these  men  had  been  here  for 
fifteen,  and  twenty  years.  "Haymaker"  George  was 
here,  and  had  been  here  for  some  time;  for  he  claimed 
to  have  gone  haymaking  from  this  very  house,  when 
he  first  came  here;  going  and  returning  daily  without 
the  assistance  of  trains,  busses  or  cars. 

"Salvation"  Jimmy  was  here;  who  had  been  so 
emotional  that  he  had  been  desired  as  an  acquisition 
to  the  Salvation  Army,  which  he  had  joined,  and 
donned  the  red  jersey.  At  last  the  poor  fellow  had 
become  so  very  emotional,  probably  influenced  by 
such  stirring  music  and  the  ready  hallelujah  of  the 
members,  that  really,  his  frequent  laughter,  his  fer- 
vent cries  and  his  down-on-the-knees-and-up-in-a- 
trice,  had  provoked  so  many  smiles  and  sarcastic  re- 
marks from  his  audience,  that  not  only  was  he  not 
promoted  to  rank  from  a  private,  but  was  discharged 
the  service  altogether.  Even  to  this  day,  he  knew 
no  reason  for  his  dismissal.     He  was  mad  enough 

[256] 


The  Farmhouse 

now,  in  these  later  days,  laughing,  dancing  and  sing- 
ing up  and  down  the  Farmhouse  kitchen,  so  that  I 
can  imagine  the  effect  on  his  nerves  when  marching 
to  the  sound  of  loud  music,  under  the  spread  of  a 
blood  red  banner.  Even  now,  in  these  days,  he  drew 
every  one's  attention  to  his  eccentric  behaviour,  so 
that  what  must  he  have  been  then*? 

I  soon  knew  them  all  by  name,  that  is,  by  their 
nicknames,  by  which  most  of  them  preferred  to  be 
known.  It  was  very  interesting  to  hear,  morning 
after  morning,  "Fishy  Fat"  and  John — the  latter 
being  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption,  and  poor 
fellow  peevish  withal — sit  down  to  breakfast  and 
to  abolish  the  House  of  Lords.  It  was  often  a  sur- 
prise to  me  to  see  this  noble  edifice  still  standing, 
after  hearing  it  abolished  in  such  fierce  language, 
and  in  terms  of  such  scathing  reproach.  Strangely, 
these  men  had  very  little  to  say  during  the  day; 
and  did  one  get  up  earlier  than  the  other  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  would  stand  silent  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
or  pace  quietly  up  and  down  the  kitchen  waiting 
the  appearance  of  his  friend.  When  one  saw  the 
other  preparing  breakfast,  he  would  at  once  follow 
his  example  and  when  everything  was  ready,  both 
would  seat  themselves  opposite  each  other  at  the 
same  table.  Up  till  this  time  nothing  would  have 
been  said,  until  each  had  tasted  and  sugared  his  tea 
to  his  own  liking.  After  this  being  done,  one  would 
suddenly  ejaculate  a  sentence  of  this  kind  "Smother 

[257] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

them  lazy  rotters  in  the  h'upper  'ouse,  the  bleeding 
liars."  In  accordance  with  that  remark,  the  other 
would  immediately  answer — "Perish  'em  all."  And 
then  would  follow  oath  after  oath  of  the  blackest 
character,  and  daring  cold-blooded  designs  that 
would  have  gladdened  the  heart  of  Guy  Fawkes. 

Brown  was  also  here,  and  always  in  a  state  of  won- 
der. He  had  very  little  faith  in  print,  and  every 
hour  things  happened  which  made  him — to  use  his 
own  words — "know  not  what  or  what  not  to  be- 
lieve." He  presumed  that  the  laity  was  a  certain 
kind  of  religious  sect,  but  to  him  they  all  seemed 
without  difference.  The  only  difference  he  could  see 
between  a  vicar  and  a  curate  was  that  one  had  a 
larger  corporation  and  a  redder  nose  than  the  other. 
Brown,  who  was  a  simple,  kind-hearted  fellow,  said 
that  we  were  all  born  of  woman;  that  we  were  born 
and  that  we  must  all  die;  that  it  was  a  great  pity, 
and  made  his  heart  bleed,  to  see  a  man  come  down 
in  life  after  he  has  been  high  up;  and  that  we  had  to 
face  a  cruel  fact — although  it  was  almost  beyond 
belief — that  a  man's  own  relations  often  caused  the 
man's  downfall  which,  with  his  own  eyes,  he  had 
seen  done. 

"Gambling"  Fred  was  here,  looking  over  the  daily 
paper  with  "Red  Nosed  Scotty."  They  are  both 
short  sighted,  and,  unfortunately,  have  but  one  pair 
of  spectacles  between  them,  which  is  now  being  used 
by  "Scotty."     Suddenly  the  red  nosed  man  sees  the 

[258] 


I 


The  Farmhouse 

name  of  a  horse.  "There  you  are,"  he  cries  exult- 
ingly;  "there's  a  sure  winner."  "Where*?"  asks  his 
fellow  gambler,  taking  the  spectacles  and  adjusting 
them  on  his  own  nose.  "How  can  I  show  you  now^" 
asks  the  red  nosed  gambler,  in  a  fretful  voice, 
"haven't  you  got  the  specs  on?"  At  last  matters 
are  arranged  to  the  satisfaction  of  both,  and  Fred 
approaches  his  friend  "Yanks"  for  the  loan  of  six- 
pence, to  back  this  horse.  But  "Yanks"  uncere- 
moniously tells  his  friend  to  go  to  hell.  At  this  the 
gambler  sulks  all  the  evening  and  unfortunately  the 
next  day  his  favoured  horse  wins.  On  this  transac- 
tion the  gambler  would  have  been  ten  shillings  in 
pocket.  After  this  another  horse  won,  which  Fred, 
in  his  penniless  state,  professes  to  have  favoured. 
He  would  have  backed  this  horse  with  his  ten  shill- 
ings won  from  the  other  race,  and  would  now  have 
been  five  pounds  in  pocket.  "Yes,"  says  the  gam- 
bler, pointing  to  his  friend  "Yanks" — "that  man  has 
done  me  out  of  many  a  golden  pound." 

Poor  old  "Scotty"  Bill  was  here,  a  seller  of  fly 
papers;  who  disturbed  the  kitchen  all  day,  because 
of  the  scarcity  of  flies,  as  though  the  lodgers  were 
to  blame.  "We  are  having  damn  strange  summers 
of  late  years,"  he  said,  "different  from  my  younger 
days;  for  there  is  now  scarcely  a  fly  to  be  seen." 

Here  dwelt  "Hoppy"  the  bootblack,  who  had  a 
rival  in  business  on  the  opposite  corner.  He  was 
certainly  the  dirtiest  man  I  have  ever  seen  going  in 

[259] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

and  out  of  a  house,  but  he  earned  good  money,  and 
often  came  home  drunk  to  this  lodging  house  in  a 
cab,  causing  a  great  sensation  among  the  poorer 
lodgers.  His  rival  did  less  trade,  and  could  afford 
to  do  less,  a  lodger  remarked,  seeing  that  his  mother 
kept  a  flourishing  cats'  meat  shop.  When  I  have 
passed  near  these  rival  bootblacks,  I  have  often  won- 
dered how  the  thousands  of  people  walked  daily  be- 
tween them  without  being  singed,  not  to  mention 
scorched,  by  their  baneful  glances,  which  were  fired 
at  each  other  across  the  way. 

Here  too  had  "Irish"  Tim  come;  a  very  small 
man  with  a  sarcastic  tongue;  an  out-of-date  printer 
broken  on  the  wheels  of  new  machinery.  Did  you 
not  want  to  be  subjected  to  the  ridicule  of  the  kitchen 
it  was  necessary  when  expressing  an  opinion,  to  look 
this  man  straight  and  sternly  in  the  face,  and  to 
speak  with  the  utmost  deliberation.  He  always  sat 
at  the  same  table,  and  in  the  same  seat,  if  not  al- 
ready occupied;  and  his  particular  table  was  known 
as  the  House  of  Parliament,  owing  to  the  number 
of  arguments  conducted  there,  of  which  he  was  the 
leader.  He  passed  judgment  on  public  men,  and 
although  he  rarely  had  a  good  word  for  any  one, 
I  must  say,  to  Tim's  credit,  that  he  never  lost  an 
opportunity  to  stroke  the  cat.  I  believe  Tim  had 
just  a  little  friendly  feeling  for  simple,  eccentric  and 
impulsive  Bob;  whom  he  could  scorn  and  contradict 
without  being  threatened  or  bullied  in  return.     Bob 

[260] 


The  Farmhouse 

was  an  idealist,  a  dreamer  with  a  strong  imagination; 
and  it  was  Tim's  delight  to  beat  this  dreamer  to  the 
thorny  paths  of  his  daily  life,  speaking  in  the  name 
of  common  sense. 

Bob  was  full  of  the  wonders  of  Nature,  marvelled 
much  at  the  undertakings  of  men,  to  make  railways 
to  cross  mountains  and  bridges  to  span  canyons; 
and  was  deeply  interested  in  the  early  growth  of 
things,  ere  they  were  manufactured  into  a  form  that 
every  person  could  recognise.  He  was  a  most  bril- 
liant conversationalist,  and  was  interestingly  dra- 
matic in  his  readings.  He  was  a  good  companion 
for  others,  but,  as  I  soon  discovered  to  my  disappoint- 
ment, seldom  had  a  comfortable  moment  when  alone 
with  himself.  I  had  a  small  bedroom  to  myself,  and 
unfortunately  the  near  cubicle  to  mine  was  Bob's. 
Bob,  who,  probably  five  minutes  before,  had  been  in 
the  kitchen  laughing,  or  reading  with  childish  delight 
of  the  gorgeous  pageantry  of  a  coming  play  or  pan- 
tomime, or  had  been  seriously  wondering  at  some 
new  discovery,  would  scarcely  set  foot  in  his  own 
quiet  room  ere  he  was  clutched  by  a  devil.  I  have 
become  accustomed  to  foul  language  from  one  man 
to  another,  but  his  bold  way  of  directly  addressing 
his  blasphemy  to  his  Maker,  stiffened  the  laughter 
on  my  lips,  and  shocked  me,  in  spite  of  an  indifferent 
faith.  This  unusually  clever  man — a  genius,  if  this 
world  ever  had  one — disappointed  at  his  circum- 
stances, after  an  indulgence  of  his  ideal,  would  sit 

[261] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

on  his  bed  and  try  to  throttle  himself,  night  after 
night;  and  then  would  smother  his  face  in  his  bed 
clothes,  and  invariably  end  his  mad  fit  by  sobbing. 
When  he  reached  this  pitiful  state,  this  simple,  im- 
pulsive and  childlike  man,  I  felt  like  standing  to  his 
side,  before  the  outraged  face  of  his  Maker,  so  great 
was  my  pity  for  him. 

Many  others  were  here,  whom  I  was  to  become 
better  acquainted  with — such  as  the  "Major,"  "Aus- 
tralian" Bill,  "Never  Sweet,"  "Cinders,"  and  "The 
Snob,"  who  was  sent  to  prison  so  often  through  hav- 
ing an  over-liking  for  other  people's  pockets;  and 
who,  when  questioned  as  to  his  absence,  always  said 
he  had  been  to  see  his  youngest  brother.  All  of 
these  were  here,  with  many  others  of  note. 

For  the  "Blacksmith"  was  here,  who,  every  time 
he  saw  me  preparing  to  go  out,  thought  I  must  be 
on  a  begging  expedition,  and  he  trusted  that  I  would 
find  the  ladies  kindly  disposed.  On  thanking  him 
for  this  kind  wish,  he  confided  his  intention  of  visit- 
ing Deptford,  saying  that  he  had  given  that  part  of 
the  city  a  long  rest. 

"Boozy"  Bob  was  here,  "Drunken  Dave"  and 
"Brummy  Tom";  three  small  men  with  a  large  ca- 
pacity for  taking  ale.  All  these  men  were  quiet  or 
at  least  not  objectionable,  and  none  of  them  could 
disturb  me  in  my  room.  The  sleep  of  the  house  was 
disturbed  more  from  without  than  from  any  cause 
within.     Cats — by   day  the  most  docile  of  God's 

[262] 


The  Farmhouse 

creatures,  every  one  of  them  in  the  night  enlisting 
under  the  devil's  banner — took  the  place  by  storm 
after  the  human  voice  had  ceased.  But  perhaps  the 
one  who  accounted  for  more  than  two-thirds  of  my 
sleepless  nights,  was  a  woman,  an  outsider  living  in 
an  adjacent  block.  It  was  her  custom  to  come  home 
drunk  early  in  the  morning,  singing  and  swearing. 
"Little  Punch,"  a  sickly  consumptive,  who  had  lived 
in  this  neighbourhood  of  Southwark  all  his  life,  had 
no  difficulty  in  recognising  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Kelly. 
So  whenever  I  enquired  as  to  the  origin  of  a  dis- 
turbance, the  name  of  Mrs.  Kelly  was  the  beginning 
and  the  end  of  it.  Mrs.  Kelly  was  not  satisfied 
with  a  single  fight;  she  occasionally  instigated  a  riot. 
On  the  night  of  that  memorable  day  when  South- 
wark, and  in  particular  the  Borough,  was  visited  by 
royalty,  this  was  the  lady  that  murdered  sleep.  The 
police  always  appeared  tolerant  with  her,  and  more 
so  on  this  occasion.  As  a  general  rule  it  is  people 
that  live  in  private  houses  who  have  to  complain  of 
the  presence  of  a  common  lodging  house,  of  being 
disturbed  by  its  low-class  inmates;  but  this  lodging 
house,  with  beds  for  nearly  two  hundred  men,  was 
kept  as  quiet  as  a  large  mansion  with  its  one  small 
family  and  half  a  score  of  servants.  In  its  kitchen 
was  a  continual  din  up  till  twelve  o'clock  at  night; 
but  this  did  not  disturb  the  sleepers  in  other  parts 
of  the  house.  Seldom  would  a  loud  voice  be  heard 
inside;  but  it  was  nothing  unusual  to  hear  at  night 

[263] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

the  fighting  and  swearing  of  men  and  women,  and 
the  screaming  of  children.  This  could  be  expected 
without  fail  on  Saturday  nights  and  the  close  of 
holidays.  These  horrible  and  inhuman  cries  so  af- 
fected me  on  one  Saturday  evening,  when,  for  the 
sake  of  the  study,  I  had  retired  early  to  bed,  that  I 
could  neither  think,  sleep  nor  lie  quiet,  and  felt  com- 
pelled to  get  up  and  return  to  the  kitchen.  This  I 
did,  and  found  thirty  or  forty  men  assembled  there, 
most  of  them  more  or  less  drunk,  but  none  of  them 
appeared  quarrelsome.  Of  course  it  was  impossible 
to  sit  long  here  before  I  was  surrounded  by  them; 
and  sat  fearing  to  breathe  deep  enough  to  inhale  the 
fumes  of  drink  which  came  from  both  their  mouths 
and  clothes;  and  being  in  good  favour  with  these 
hopeless  fellows,  was  continually  invited  good  na- 
turedly  to  shake  hands  with  them.  Instead  of  go- 
ing back  to  my  room,  I  left  the  place  and  entered 
a  public  house  for  the  first  time  in  three  months. 
"Brummy"  Tom  was  there,  with  another  fish  porter 
of  his  acquaintance.  "Have  a  drink  with  me,"  he 
said,  "I  have  often  thought  to  ask  you,  but  thought 
you  were  a  teetotaller  and  would  refuse." 
"  'Brumm,'  "  I  said,  rather  bitterly,  "a  teetotaller 
who  lives  in  a  common  lodging  house  is  to  be  heartily 
despised,  for  he  shows  himself  to  be  satisfied  with 
his  conditions."  With  "Brummy"  Tom  and  his 
friend  for  companions,  I  took  a  number  of  long 
sleeping  draughts,  and  just  after  twelve  o'clock  that 

[264] 


The  Farmhouse 

night  was  fast  asleep  in  bed.  The  following  morn- 
ing some  of  the  lodgers  were  telling  of  murder  cries 
heard  just  after  midnight,  but  I  praised  the  power 
of  Bacchus  that  I  had  not  heard  them. 

It  was  always  a  mystery  to  me  that  these  men 
respected  me  and  never  failed  in  civility  in  their 
dealings  with  me,  for  I  did  everything  that  these 
men  disliked.  I  wore  a  white  collar,  which  they  at 
once  take  to  be  a  challenge  that  you  are  their  supe- 
rior. Few  other  men  in  the  house,  except  they  were 
fighting  men,  could  have  produced  a  toothbrush 
without  being  sneered  at.  True  it  induced  Brown 
to  ask  the  question  whether  I  felt  any  actual  benefit 
from  cleaning  my  teeth;  that  he  had  heard  so  many 
different  opinions  that  he  did  not  know  what  or 
what  not  to  believe;  saying  that  he  had  often  watched 
me,  and  wondered  at  so  unusual  a  custom.  They 
all  destested  the  "Masher,"  because  he  was  earning 
more  than  a  pound  a  week  on  a  good  paper  stand, 
and  was  also  in  receipt  of  a  good  pension ;  and  they 
all  cried  shame  on  him  for  living  in  a  common  lodg- 
ing house.  This  man,  to  my  discomfort,  showed  so 
much  inclination  to  confide  in  me,  pointing  out  the 
different  lodgers  who  owed  him  money,  and  calling 
them  low  vagabonds  and  ungrateful  scamps,  in  a 
voice  that  was  not  meant  to  be  a  whisper,  that  I 
was  almost  afraid  of  losing  their  good  will  in  listen- 
ing to  such  words,  without  saying  something  on  their 
behalf.     Again  I  was  almost  a  teetotaller,  and  that 

[265] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

was  the  worst  charge  of  all.  In  spite  of  all  this,  I 
do  not  believe  that  I  made  one  enemy,  and  am  cer- 
tain that  I  never  received  other  than  kindness  and 
civility  from  the  lodgers  of  the  Farmhouse. 


[266] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

RAIN    AND    POVERTY 

THE  greatest  enemy  to  the  man  who  has  to 
carry  on  his  body  all  his  wardrobe,  is  rain. 
As  long  as  the  sun  shines  he  is  indifferent, 
but  if  he  is  caught  in  a  wet  condition  after  sunset  he 
is  to  be  pitied.  He  does  not  fear  any  ill  conse- 
quences to  health  from  being  wet  through,  as  does 
his  more  fortunate  brother,  but  he  does  not  like  the 
uncomfortable  sensation  of  shivering  and  not  being 
able  to  keep  warm.  This  unsettled  feeling  is  often 
made  worse  by  an  empty  stomach.  In  fact  a  full 
stomach  is  his  one  safeguard  against  the  cold,  and 
he  cares  not  then  if  the  rain  and  the  wind  penetrate 
his  clothes.  No  seaman  ever  searched  the  heavens 
for  a  dark  speck,  or  astronomer  for  a  new  light,  as 
does  this  homeless  man  for  a  sign  of  rain.  To  es- 
cape from  the  coming  deluge  he  seeks  shelter  in  the 
public  library,  which  is  the  only  free  shelter  availa- 
ble; and  there  he  sits  for  hours  staring  at  one  page, 
not  a  word  of  which  he  has  read  or,  for  that  matter, 
intends  to  read.  If  he  cannot  at  once  get  a  seat, 
he  stands  before  a  paper  and  performs  that  almost 

[267] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

impossible  feat  of  standing  upright  fast  asleep,  so 
as  to  deceive  the  attendants,  and  respectable  people 
who  are  waiting  a  chance  to  see  that  very  paper. 
To  be  able  to  do  this  requires  many  unsuccessful 
efforts,  which  fail  on  account  of  hard  breathing,  nod- 
ding and  stumbling  against  the  paper  stand;  but 
success  has  at  last  been  attained,  and  there  he  stands 
fast  asleep  and  apparently  absorbed  in  a  most  in- 
teresting paragraph.  He  attains  such  perfection  in 
this  one  act  that  he  has  been  known  to  stand  like  a 
marble  statue  before  a  large  sheet  of  costly  plate 
glass,  what  time  sleep  had  overpowered  him  in  the 
act  of  admiring  a  baker's  art.  The  homeless  man 
must  always  remember  one  thing,  that  though  he 
may  sit  on  wooden  seats  and  stone  parapets,  eat  in 
public  and  go  in  rags,  he  must  not,  on  any  account, 
sleep.  Working  men  only  are  allowed  that  privi- 
lege and  those  who  can  afford  to  remain  idle.  No 
policeman  would  think  of  indulging  in  a  short  nap 
until  he  made  sure  that  there  was  no  vagrant  sleep- 
ing on  his  beat.  And  what  respectable  householder 
could  rest  in  bed  knowing  that  a  tramp  was  sleeping 
in  his  doorway*?  If  necessity  is  the  mother  of  in- 
vention, sleep  must  certainly  be  necessary  to  a  hu- 
man being,  or  the  tramp,  according  to  his  many 
chances  of  experiments,  would  be  the  first  to  prove 
the  contrary.     So  much  for  the  very  lowest  men. 

But  there  are  others  who,  in  that  they  have  a 
shelter  at  night,  scorn  the  name  of  being  called  home- 

[268] 


Rain  and  Poverty 

less  men.  These  men  live  in  common  lodging 
houses,  and  are  well  satisfied  v/ith  a  place  to  sleep 
and  enough  food  to  keep  body  and  soul  together. 
Most  of  these  men  earn  their  living,  such  as  it  is, 
in  the  open  air,  and  they  earn  so  little  that  they  are 
seldom  prepared  for  a  rainy  day.  Therefore,  when 
comes  this  rainy  morn,  and  the  poor  fellow  rises  pen- 
niless from  his  bed,  it  is  then  that  you  see  a  little 
seriousness  come  over  him;  for  he  cannot  expose  his 
wares  to  spoil  in  the  rain  and,  did  they  not  spoil, 
who  would  be  foolish  enough  to  tarry  in  bad  weather 
to  make  an  idle  purchase?  The  rain  would  spoil 
his  paper-toys,  his  memorandum-books,  or  his  laces 
and  collar  studs.  In  truth,  as  long  as  the  rain  con- 
tinues his  occupation  is  gone.  The  paper  seller  can 
take  his  stand  regardless  of  weather,  and  earn  enough 
for  the  day  thereof,  at  the  expense  of  a  wet  skin. 
Sometimes  he  is  fortunate  enough  to  be  stationed 
near  some  shelter,  but  sometimes  his  stand  happens 
to  be  outside  an  aristocratic  club  or  hotel,  and  he 
dare  not  enter  its  porch,  not  even  if  the  devil  was  at 
his  heels. 

Then  there  is  the  "downrighter,"  the  man  who 
makes  no  pretence  to  selling,  but  boldly  asks  people 
for  the  price  of  his  bed  and  board.  On  a  rainy  day 
he  has  to  make  sudden  bursts  between  the  heaviest 
showers  and  forage  the  surrounding  streets,  which, 
being  near  a  lodging  house,  are  invariably  poor  and 
unprofitable,  whereas  his  richest  pastures  are  in  the 

[269] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

suburbs  or  better  still  the  outskirts  of  them.  The 
bad  weather  is,  of  course,  a  blessing  to  those  distant 
housekeepers,  however  hard  it  is  on  the  "down- 
righter,"  for  it  comes  as  the  Sabbath  day  to  their 
bells  and  knockers. 

Then  there  are  the  market  men  who  work  two  or 
three  early  hours  in  the  morning,  when  the  majority 
of  people  are  asleep.  These  men  are  returning  in 
their  wet  clothes  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock  and 
their  day's  work  is  done.  Often  they  have  no 
change  of  clothing,  therefore  it  is  not  unusual  for 
two  men  to  be  standing  at  the  same  fire,  the  one 
drying  his  wet  socks  and  the  other  toasting  his  dry 
bread,  with  the  articles  in  question  almost  embracing 
one  another  on  the  most  friendly  terms. 

It  is  on  this  rainy  day  that  one  sees  those  little 
kindnesses  which  are  only  seen  among  the  very  poor: 
one  who  has  not  sufficient  for  himself  assisting  some 
other  who  has  nothing.  One  man  who  has  made 
eighteen  pence  at  the  market,  returns,  pays  four- 
pence  for  his  bed,  buys  food,  and  then  in  addition 
to  paying  for  another  man's  bed,  invites  yet  another 
to  dine  with  him  and  in  the  end  gives  his  last  copper 
to  another.  One,  who  happens  to  have  done  well 
the  previous  day,  gives  here  and  there  until  he  is 
himself  penniless.  The  consequence  of  all  this  is 
that  whereas  you  saw  in  the  morning  dull  and  anx- 
ious faces,  at  midday  you  see  more  than  half  of  the 
lodgers  cooking,  their  beds  already  paid  for.     All 

[270] 


Rain  and  Poverty 

worry  is  at  an  end,  and  they  are  whistling,  humming 
songs,  or  chaffing  one  another. 

It  is  on  this  rainy  day  when  they  are  made  prison- 
ers without  spare  money  to  pay  into  the  beer  house, 
that  they  mend  and  wash  their  clothes,  repair  their 
boots,  and  have  abundant  time  to  cook  vegetables. 
It  is  a  day  for  Irish  stews  and  savoury  broths. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  days,  when  the  kitchen  was 
so  crowded,  that  I  unfortunately  attempted  to  make 
pancakes.  I  knew  that  such  an  unusual  experiment 
could  not  fail  to  cause  a  sensation  which  I  did  not 
desire,  so  I  placed  myself  in  a  dark  corner  and  quietly 
and  without  being  observed,  made  the  flour  into 
paste,  exactly  as  I  had  seen  another  lodger  do  some 
time  previous.  The  flour  had  been  in  my  possession 
ever  since  that  occasion,  but  my  courage  had  up  to 
the  present  failed.  Three  or  four  men  were  now 
at  the  stove,  and  a  number  of  others  were  idly  walk- 
ing up  and  down.  I  had  made  half  a  basin  of  paste, 
and  this  was  to  make  one  big  thick  fat  pancake. 
But  how  was  I  to  get  it  into  the  frying  pan  without 
attracting  notice"?  I  covered  the  basin  with  a  saucer, 
placed  the  frying  pan  on  the  stove,  with  butter 
therein,  and  waited  my  chance.  I  had  taken  the 
precaution  of  having  in  readiness  a  large  plate.  At 
last  my  chance  came,  for  two  cooks  were  having 
high  words  as  to  whether  cabbage  should  be  put  into 
cold  or  boiling  water.  Others  joined  in  this  argu- 
ment,  so  without  receiving  notice,   I  dropped  the 

[271] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

paste  into  the  frying  pan  and  quickly  covered  it  with 
a  large  plate.  So  far,  so  good:  my  only  difficulty 
now  would  be  to  turn  it;  for  after  it  was  cooked  I 
could  carry  the  pan  and  its  covered  contents  to  the 
dark  corner  where  I  intended  to  dine;  and  where, 
although  men  might  see  me  eat,  none  would  be  the 
wiser  as  to  what  I  was  eating.  Five  minutes  had 
passed  and  no  doubt  its  one  side  was  cooked.  The 
argument  was  still  in  full  swing,  for  each  man 
stoutly  maintained  his  opinions,  and  almost  every 
man  who  took  part  cited  his  mother  or  sister  as  an 
authority,  except  one,  who  proudly  mentioned  a 
French  chef  in  an  Australian  gold  diggings.  Now 
was  my  chance.  I  cast  one  furtive  glance  around, 
rose  the  hot  plate  with  a  stocking,  which  I  had  been 
washing,  made  one  quick  turn  of  the  wrist,  spun  the 
pancake  in  the  air,  caught  it  neatly  and  promptly, 
clapped  the  plate  over  it — the  whole  process  done, 
I  believe,  in  less  than  ten  seconds.  The  difficulty 
was  now  over  and  I  breathed  relief.  I  went  to  my 
dining  corner  and  sat  down,  intending  to  fetch  the 
pancake  in  five  minutes  time. 

Three  minutes  perhaps  I  had  been  seated  when 
I  heard  a  loud  voice  cry — "Whose  pancake  is  this 
burning  on  the  stove'?"  How  I  did  detest  that  man : 
he  was  always  shouting  through  the  kitchen — 
"Whose  stew  is  this  boiling  over*?"  or  "Whose  tea 
is  stewing  on  the  fire*?"  The  man  always  seemed 
to  be  poking  his  nose  into  other  people's  business. 

[272] 


Rain  and  Poverty 

I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  drawing  every  one's 
attention  by  answering  him,  but  made  my  way  as 
quietly  as  possible  towards  the  stove.  Alas  I  the 
idiot,  not  thinking  that  I  was  the  owner  of  the  pan- 
cake, and  was  then  on  my  way  to  attend  to  it,  shouted 
the  second  time,  louder,  and  it  seemed  to  me,  too 
impatiently — "Whose  pancake  is  this?"  If  I  was 
vexed  when  I  heard  that  second  enquiry,  imagine 
how  I  felt  when  every  lodger  in  the  kitchen,  not  see- 
ing or  hearing  from  the  pancake's  lawful  claimant, 
began  to  shout  in  angry  voices,  "Whose  pancake  is 
that  burning  on  the  fire?"  My  own  patience  was 
now  exhausted.  "The  pancake  is  mine,"  I  said, 
"and  what  about  it?  What  is  all  this  fuss  about? 
It  is  the  first  pancake  I  have  ever  attempted  to  make 
and  by  heavens !  if  it  is  to  cause  such  a  stir  as  this, 
it  will  be  the  last."  But  while  I  was  making  this 
speech  another  voice,  which  froze  the  blood  in  my 
veins  cried  angrily — "Whose  pancake  is  this?"  It 
was  a  woman's  voice,  it  was  the  Mrs.  of  the  house; 
and  I  now  knew  that  something  more  serious  was 
happening  than  the  burning  of  a  pancake — I  was 
burning  her  frying  pan.  If  I  dallied  in  respect  to 
my  pancakes,  I  must  certainly  not  make  further  de- 
lay in  saving  the  frying  pan.  To  her  I  at  once  apol- 
ogised, but  I  gave  that  meddler  a  look  that  for  ever 
again  kept  him  silent  as  to  what  belonged  to  me. 
Such  are  the  doings  in  a  lodging  house,  vexatious 
enough  at  the  time,  but  amusing  to  recall. 

[273] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

FALSE    HOPES 

THE  Farmhouse  was  under  the  management 
of  an  Irishman  and  his  wife.  He  with  a 
generous  heart  that  always  kept  him  poor, 
for  he  often  assisted  lodgers  towards  paying  for  their 
beds,  who,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  were  sometimes  un- 
grateful in  return.  She,  more  circumspect,  but  kind 
hearted  and  motherly  where  she  thought  the  case  to 
be  a  deserving  one. 

With  regards  to  literary  ambition  I  always  kept 
my  own  counsel,  confiding  in  one  man  only — 
"Cronje";  a  man  to  be  relied  on,  whose  sympathetic 
ears  were  always  open  to  receive  either  good  or  bad 
news. 

I  must  have  been  in  this  house  something  like 
twelve  months,  when  I  took  a  sudden  notion  to 
send  some  work  to  a  literary  man,  asking  him  for 
his  opinion  of  the  same.  In  a  few  days  I  received 
a  letter  stating  that  want  of  time  prevented  him 
from  passing  judgment  on  my  work,  which  he  re- 
gretted he  would  have  to  return  unread.  This  did 
not  offend  me  in  the  least,  although  I  was  greatly 
disappointed,  for  I  knew  that  a  man  in  his  position 

[274] 


False  Hopes 

could  have  little  time  to  spare,  and  no  doubt  was 
pestered  with  correspondence  of  a  like  nature. 
But,  unfortunately,  the  MS.  returned  in  an  ill  con- 
dition, having  been  roughly  handled  through  the 
post,  and  arrived  at  the  Farmhouse  with  the  ends 
of  the  envelope  in  tatters.  When  I  received  this 
ragged  and  disreputable  parcel  from  the  Manager, 
I  knew  that  the  cat  was  out  of  the  bag,  and  that 
the  secret  which  I  had  guarded  so  jealously  was 
now  the  property  of  another,  but  I  made  no  con- 
fession, thinking  that  he  would  broach  the  subject, 
which  he  did  on  the  following  morning.  On  en- 
quiring if  the  parcel  I  had  received  on  the  day  pre- 
vious was  a  manuscript,  I  lost  no  time  in  telling 
him  everything.  The  upshot  of  this  was  that  he 
persuaded  me  to  send  some  work  to  a  publisher, 
and  if  that  gentleman  thought  the  book  worth  pub- 
lication, he,  the  Manager,  had  no  doubt  that  one 
of  the  many  rich  people  who  were  connected  with 
the  Farmhouse  Mission  could  be  induced  to  assist 
me.  Hearing  this  I  was  sorry  that  I  had  not  con- 
fided in  him  of  my  own  accord,  for  I  had  often 
seen  these  rich  people  coming  and  going,  looking, 
perhaps  for  deserving  cases. 

With  these  golden  projects  before  me,  I  again 
set  to  work,  and,  in  less  than  a  month,  the  MS.  was 
ready  and  in  the  hands  of  a  publisher.  That  gentle- 
man wrote  in  a  few  days  saying  that  he  thought 
there  was  literary  merit,  and  that  the  cost  of  pro- 

[275] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

duction  would  be  thirty  pounds.  The  publisher's 
name  was  well  known,  and  the  Manager  was  quite 
satisfied  as  to  its  being  a  genuine  offer  from  an  old 
and  respectable  firm.  Quite  contented  in  my  own 
mind,  my  part  having  been  performed  without 
difficulty,  I  gladly  allowed  this  man  to  take  posses- 
sion of  this  correspondence,  and  a  few  specimen 
books  of  verse,  which  the  publisher  had  sent  with  it, 
and,  having  full  trust  in  the  man's  goodness  and 
influence,  made  myself  comfortable,  and  settled 
down  in  a  fool's  paradise.  I  have  never  had  cause 
to  doubt  his  goodness,  but  he  certainly  overrated 
his  power  to  influence  the  philanthropists  on  the 
behalf  of  a  lodger. 

Several  weeks  passed,  and  I  had  received  no  en- 
couraging news.  No  mention  had  been  made  of 
my  affairs,  and  I  gave  myself  over  to  the  influence 
of  the  coke  fire.  After  going  out  in  the  morning 
for  two  or  three  hours,  I  would  return  at  midday, 
often  earlier,  and  sit  hopelessly  before  this  fire  for 
ten  or  eleven  hours,  after  which  I  would  retire  to 
my  room.  What  a  miserable  time  was  this:  the 
kitchen,  foul  with  the  breath  of  fifty  or  sixty  men, 
and  the  fumes  of  the  coke  fire,  took  all  the  energ}' 
out  of  a  man,  and  it  was  a  hard  fight  to  keep  awake. 
It  has  taken  the  play  out  of  the  kitten,  and  this 
small  animal  lies  stretched  out,  overcome  by  its 
fumes,  without  the  least  fear  of  being  trodden  on. 
Sometimes,  when  I  endeavoured  to  concentrate  my 

[276] 


False  Hopes 

mind,  with  an  idea  of  writing  something,  it  was 
necessary  to  feign  a  sleep,  so  that  these  kind  hearted 
fellows  might  not  disturb  me  with  their  civilities. 
On  these  occasions  it  was  not  unusual  for  me  to  fall 
into  a  real  sleep.  And,  when  I  awoke,  it  sickened 
me  to  think  of  this  wasted  time ;  for  I  was  spending 
in  bed  more  hours  than  were  necessary  for  my 
health,  and  it  was  a  most  cruel  waste  of  time  to  be 
sleeping  in  the  day.  This  fire  exerted  a  strange 
influence  over  us.  In  the  morning  we  were  loath 
to  leave  it,  and  we  all  returned  to  it  as  soon  as 
possible.  Even  the  books  and  magazines  in  the 
libraries  could  not  seduce  me  longer  than  an  hour. 
There  was  one  seat  at  the  corner  of  a  table,  which  I 
have  heard  called  "the  dead  man's  seat."  It  was 
within  two  yards  of  this  great  fire,  which  was  never 
allowed  to  suffer  from  want  of  coke.  It  was  im- 
possible to  retain  this  seat  long  and  keep  awake. 
Of  course,  a  man  could  hardly  expect  to  keep  this 
seat  da)^  after  day  for  a  long  winter,  and  to  be  alive 
in  the  spring  of  the  year.  This  was  the  case  with 
a  printer  who,  unfortunately,  had  only  three  days' 
work  a  week.  The  amount  he  earned  was  sufficient 
for  his  wants,  so,  in  his  four  idle  days,  he  would  sit 
on  this  seat,  eating,  reading,  but  more  often  sleeping, 
until  before  the  end  of  the  winter,  he  was  carried 
away  a  dying  man.  Some  of  these  lodgers  claim 
to  be  able  to  recognise  in  the  public  streets  any 
strangers  who  are  suffering  from  this  coke  fever. 

[277] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Weeks  passed  and  then  months,  and  I  still  heard 
nothing  about  my  book.  The  Manager  had  failed, 
of  that  I  at  last  became  certain.  I  avoided  him  as 
much  as  possible,  because  of  the  confidence  I  had 
reposed  in  him.  It  was  certainly  very  awkward 
for  the  both  of  us,  and  I  felt  much  sympathy  on  his 
account.  When  he  was  near  I  felt  extremely  un- 
comfortable, and  I  am  sure  he  felt  none  too  easy 
in  my  presence. 

Spring  at  last  came,  and  I  broke  away  from  the 
lodging  house  fire,  to  indulge  in  the  more  pure  rays 
of  the  sun.  I  began  to  absent  myself  from  the 
house  longer  every  day,  until  I  at  last  began  to 
regret  that  there  was  any  necessity  to  return  to  it 
at  all.  The  happiness  and  stir  of  Nature,  at  this 
time  of  the  year,  began  to  fill  me  with  her  own 
energy.  I  was  in  my  room,  one  of  these  bright 
mornings,  and  was  looking  in  the  mirror,  adjusting 
my  scarf — the  mirror  and  bed  being  the  whole  fur- 
niture. In  this  mirror  I  looked  long  enough  to  see 
a  white  hair  on  the  side  of  my  head.  Thinking 
this  to  be  hardly  true  at  my  time  of  life,  I  shifted 
the  glass  to  a  better  light,  thinking  it  must  have 
played  me  false;  but  sure  enough,  here  it  was — a 
single  hair,  as  white  as  snow.  Yes,  I  thought,  with 
some  bitterness,  this  comes  of  waiting  to  be  fulfilled 
the  promises  of  other  people;  and  you  will  never 
rise  if  you  do  not  make  some  effort  of  your  own. 
Thinking  of  this  white  hair,  I  left  the  house,  won- 

[278] 


False  Hopes 

dering  what  I  could  do  to  help  myself.  And,  this 
particular  morning,  an  idea  occurred  to  me,  so  sim- 
ple, so  reasonable,  and  so  easily  to  be  accomplished, 
that  it  filled  me  with  surprise  that  such  a  plan  had 
not  presented  itself  before.  I  had  an  income  of 
eight  shillings  per  week;  then  what  was  to  prevent 
me  from  borrowing  forty  or  fifty  pounds,  even 
though  I  paid  for  it  a  little  more  than  usual  interest*? 
Again  I  was  full  of  hope  and  happiness,  for  I  could 
see  nothing  to  prevent  the  accomplishment  of  this. 
My  eight  shillings  were  being  received  in  sums  of 
two  pounds  every  five  weeks.  Two  shillings  a  week 
were  forwarded  home,  and  I  lived  abstemiously  on 
the  remainder.  My  five  weeks'  money  was  due  on 
the  following  week,  so  I  at  once  began  making  prep- 
arations for  a  trip  home.  When  this  money  arrived 
I  determined  to  lose  no  time  in  executing  these 
plans,  for  I  had  visions  of  being  a  white  headed 
man,  if  I  remained  under  these  hopeless  conditions 
for  another  year  or  two.  The  money  came  on  Sat- 
urday night,  when  it  was  due,  and  everything  being 
prepared,  I  was  that  very  night  on  my  way  to  Pad- 
dington  Station,  after  having  told  the  manager  that 
I  was  going  home  for  a  week,  and  that  I  would 
forward  him  my  rent,  if  I  remained  longer  than 
that  time.     Full  of  this  idea  I  arrived  at  home. 

The  following  Monday  I  invaded  the  office  of  my 
old  granny's  lawyer,  and  telling  him  I  wished  to 
set  up  in  business,  consulted  him  as  to  the  best  way 

[279] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

of  borrowing  the  money,  some  forty  or  fifty  pounds 
being  necessary.  He  saw  nothing  to  prevent  this 
from  being  done,  but  strongly  advised  me  not  to  do 
so;  "at  any  rate,"  he  said,  "see  your  trustee,  ask 
him  if  he  can  lend  you  the  amount,  and,  if  he  cannot 
see  his  way  clear  to  do  so,  let  me  know  I"  In  half 
an  hour  I  was  with  the  trustee.  That  gentleman 
had  not  the  amount  on  hand,  but  had  plans  of  his 
own  which,  if  I  strictly  adhered  to,  would  be  more 
to  my  advantage  in  the  long  run. 

"It  is  now  June,"  he  said,  "and  if  you  allow 
your  income  to  stand  until  the  beginning  of  the 
New  Year,  you  will  then  have  ten  pounds  saved  to 
your  account,  and  I  give  you  my  promise  to  advance 
another  twenty  pounds  without  a  question  of  in- 
terest, making  the  amount  thirty  pounds  I"  Now 
it  happened  that  three  weeks  before  I  left  London, 
I  had  sent  a  work  to  a  printer  and  publisher,  who 
had  priced  two  hundred  and  fifty  copies  at  nineteen 
pounds;  so  that  I  knew  well  that  thirty  pounds 
would  be  ample  to  meet  all  expenses.  But  how 
was  I  to  live  for  the  next  six  months'?  Deter- 
mined to  make  any  sacrifice  to  attain  this  end,  I 
closed  with  the  trustee's  offer,  and,  getting  an  ad- 
vance from  him  of  one  pound,  intended  to  return 
at  once  to  London,  but  was  persuaded  to  remain 
at  home  for  another  three  weeks.  At  the  end  of 
this  time  I  paid  my  fare  back  to  London,  and  again 
took  possession  of  my  room,  for  which  I  had  for- 

[280] 


False  Hopes 

warded  the  rent  during  my  absence.  In  less  than 
four  days  after  my  return,  I  was  very  near  penni- 
less, and  saw  no  other  prospect  than  to  start  on 
another  half  year's  wandering. 

How  foolish  all  this  was!  Why  did  I  not  start 
my  travels  from  home,  instead  of  wasting  money 
on  a  return  fare  to  London  *?  Why  did  I  pay  three 
weeks'  rent  for  the  sake  of  returning  to  a  room  for 
as  many  days'?  Well,  I  had  a  faint  hope  that  the 
Manager  might,  at  last,  after  six  months,  have  suc- 
ceeded in  his  attempt. 

I  told  the  Manager  that  I  was  going  on  the  road 
for  a  month  or  two,  but  mentioned  no  purpose, 
for  I  was  now  resolved  to  act  for  myself. 

"You  will  always  find  room  at  the  Farmhouse," 
he  said;  "do  not  doubt  that." 

Trying  to  appear  as  cheerful  as  possible,  for  I 
knew  this  man  was  also  disappointed,  I  left  him, 
determined  never  to  set  foot  in  that  house  again 
until  I  could  dispense  with  the  services  of  others. 
At  this  time  I  had  two  silver  shillings  and  some 
odd  coppers,  and  would  soon  need  assistance  as  a 
rnan,  without  any  question  as  to  my  work  as  an 
author. 

Again  I  was  leaving  London,  not  knowing  how 
much  I  would  have  to  suffer.  One  idea  consoled  me 
not  a  little;  that  I  would  not  require  money  for  a 
bed  for  at  least  three  months  to  come;  that  the 
nights,  though  cold,  would  not  be  so  dangerous  as 

[281] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

to  kill.  Whatever  the  consequence  might  be,  even 
if  this  rough  life  threatened  to  injure  my  health 
permanently,  I  was  firmly  resolved  to  sacrifice  the 
next  six  months  for  whatever  might  follow  them. 


[282] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

ON    TRAMP    AGAIN 

NOW  followed  a  strange  experience,  an  experi- 
ence for  which  there  is  no  name;  for  I 
managed  to  exist,  and  yet  had  neither  the 
courage  to  beg  or  sell.  Certainly  at  times  I  was 
desperately  inclined  to  steal;  but  chance  left  noth- 
ing for  my  eyes  to  covet,  and  I  passed  harmlessly 
on.  When  I  suffered  most  from  lack  of  rest,  or 
bodily  sustenance — as  my  actual  experience  became 
darker,  the  thoughts  of  the  future  became  brighter, 
as  the  stars  shine  to  correspond  with  the  night's 
shade. 

I  travelled  alone,  in  spite  of  the  civilities  of  other 
tramps,  who  desired  company,  so  as  to  allow  no 
strange  voice  to  disturb  my  dreams.  Some  of  these 
men  had  an  idea  that  I  was  mad,  because  I  could 
give  them  little  information  as  to  the  towns  and 
villages  through  which  I  had  that  very  day  passed. 
They  enquired  as  to  the  comforts  and  conditions 
of  a  town's  workhouse,  of  which  I  knew  nothing, 
for  I  had  not  entered  it.  They  enquired  as  to  its 
best  lodging  house,  of  which  I  was  again  ignorant, 

[283] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

having  slept  in  the  open  air.  They  enquired  how 
far  I  had  come  that  day,  which  I  could  not  imme- 
diately tell  them;  and  they  were  curious  to  know 
how  far  I  was  going,  which  I  did  not  know.  The 
strangest  part  of  this  experience  was  that  I  received 
help  from  people  without  having  made  a  glance  of 
appeal,  and  without  having  opened  my  mouth. 
When  I  asked  for  water,  tea  or  milk  was  often 
brought,  and  food  invariably  followed.  I  began  to 
look  on  this  as  a  short  life  of  sacrifice,  killing  a  few 
worthless  hours  so  as  to  enjoy  thousands  of  better 
ones;  and  I  blessed  every  morning  that  ushered  in 
a  new  day,  and  worshipped  every  Sabbath  night 
that  closed  another  week. 

After  tramping  from  town  to  town,  from  shire  to 
shire,  in  two  months  I  was  in  Devonshire,  on  my 
way  to  Plymouth.  I  felt  continually  attracted  to 
these  large  centres  of  commerce,  owing,  I  suppose, 
to  feeling  the  necessity  of  having  an  object  in  view; 
but  was  generally  starved  out  of  them  in  a  very 
short  time.  A  gentleman  on  horseback,  whom  I  met 
near  Totnes,  saved  me  from  suffering  from  want, 
for  a  couple  of  days,  at  least,  when  I  would  reach 
Plymouth.  This  gentleman  drew  his  horse  to  a 
halt,  so  that  he  might  enquire  my  destination.  He 
seemed  to  be  much  surprised  when  I  told  him  it 
was  the  town  of  Plymouth. 

"Ah,  well,"  he  said,  glancing  towards  the  ground, 
"there  is  only  one  foot  to  get  sore,  if  that  is  any 

[284] 


On  Tramp  Again 

consolation  to  you;  perhaps  this  will  help  you  a 
little  on  the  way,"  dropping  into  my  hand  three 
silver  shillings. 

Without  having  this  case  in  mind,  I  certainly 
fared  better  in  Devonshire  than  in  other  counties, 
and  found  its  people  more  like  the  prosperous  set- 
tlers in  new  lands.  In  spite  of  this,  my  roughest 
experience  was  in  this  county,  owing  to  the  inclem- 
ency of  the  weather,  and  the  difficulty  of  finding 
shelter.  One  night  I  had  gone  into  the  fields,  and, 
getting  together  a  dozen  or  more  wheatsheaves,  pro- 
ceeded to  build  a  house  of  them,  making  a  dry  floor 
on  the  damp  earth,  with  walls  to  shelter  from  the 
wind,  and  a  roof  to  shelter  from  the  dew,  leaving 
just  space  enough  at  one  end  to  admit  my  body. 
I  had  been  in  here  comfortable  and  warm  for  some 
time,  when  it  began  to  rain.  In  half  an  hour  the 
rain  leaked  in  large  drops  through  the  roof,  and 
in  less  than  an  hour  these  drops  had  become  streams. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  remain,  for  it  was 
now  too  dark  to  seek  shelter.  For  ten  hours  it 
rained  incessantly,  and  I  was  literally  wet  to  the  skin, 
and  no  drier  than  a  person  immersed  in  water — 
not  wet  to  the  skin  as  people  commonly  express  it 
when  they  are  damp  after  a  few  showers.  I  was 
nothing  daunted,  looking  on  this  as  one  of  the  many 
hard  experiences  that  I  was  compelled  to  undergo. 
The  next  morning  I  chose  a  secluded  spot  in  the 
open  air,  so  as  to  lie  down  where  the  sun,  coming 

[285] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

out  warm  and  strong,  would  dry  me  while  I  slept. 
Two  or  three  times  have  I  suffered  in  this  way,  but 
have  never  felt  any  ill  effects  after. 

My  worst  experience  of  this  kind  was  in  the  ad- 
joining county  of  Somerset,  at  the  end  of  September, 
when  I  was  again  making  my  way  back  to  London. 
But  it  was  not  the  blowing  of  the  wind,  or  the  patter 
of  the  rain;  not  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  on  the 
swaying  branches;  not  the  discomforts  of  having 
wet  clothes,  and  being  without  sign  of  a  barn  or 
empty  house  in  which  to  shelter;  it  was  none  of 
these  that  took  the  courage  out  of  me:  it  was  a 
wild  laugh,  harsh,  and  apparently  in  savage  mockery. 
I  had  skirted  what  appeared  to  be  a  park,  for  some- 
thing like  two  miles,  and  was  weary  to  see  the  end 
of  it.  This  at  last  seemed  to  come,  for  I  could  see 
through  the  trees  a  large  open  field  wherein  were 
wheatsheaves,  stacked  in  their  threes,  and  in  their 
usual  rows.  Now,  had  this  been  a  field  right  up 
to  the  roadside,  I  would  most  certainly  have  had 
no  compunction  in  spending  the  night  there,  being 
tired  of  carrying  such  a  distance  my  wet  and  heavy 
clothes.  As  it  was,  I  paused,  not  feeling  inclined 
to  proceed  further  on  my  journey,  and  yet  not  half 
liking  to  cross  that  narrow  strip  of  park,  thinking 
it  might  contain  game  that  would  be  well  looked 
after,  making  trespassing  a  serious  offence.  When 
in  this  irresolute  state  of  mind,  I  caught  sight  of 
a  white  gate,  and  a  small  footpath  leading  to  the 

[286] 


On  Tramp  Again 

field.  Night  seemed  to  be  coming  on  at  the  rate 
of  a  darker  shade  to  the  minute,  and  I  knew  well 
that  in  another  quarter  of  an  hour  it  would  be 
difBcult  to  distinguish  a  house  from  a  barn.  Seeing 
this,  I  summoned  courage,  opened  the  gate,  and 
made  my  way  quickly  along  the  path  that  led  to 
the  wheatsheaves.  Standing  amidst  these  I  waited 
silently,  listening  for  any  that  might  be  in  that 
locality.  Satisfied  that  there  were  not,  I  picked  up 
a  sheaf,  and  was  about  to  lay  it  flat,  when  I  heard 
a  loud  startling  laugh,  coming  from  the  direction 
of  the  road.  Dropping  the  sheaf  at  once,  I  bent 
low,  not  for  a  moment  doubting  but  what  some 
one  had  seen  me  from  the  road,  and  was  taking 
a  heartless  delight  in  letting  me  know  his  discovery. 
Although  I  regretted  this,  thinking  he  would  inform 
others,  and  I  would  surely  be  disturbed  before 
morning,  perhaps  that  very  hour — I  determined  to 
travel  no  further  that  night,  if  I  could  help  it,  and 
proceeded  to  make  my  bed,  under  the  impression 
that  he  had  passed  on.  I  stood  up  in  full,  but  had 
scarcely  done  so,  when  my  appearance  was  greeted 
by  several  long  shouts  of  derisive  laughter.  Now, 
a  homeless  man  has  no  time  to  be  superstitious, 
he  fears  the  living  and  not  the  dead.  If  he  is  sleepy 
he  is  not  particular  about  feeling  in  the  darkness  of 
cellars  or  vaults;  and,  if  he  were  sleeping  on  a  grave, 
and  was  awakened  by  a  voice  crying — "Arise  from 
off  this  grave,"  he  would  at  once  think  it  die  voice 

[287] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

of  a  grave  digger,  or  the  keeper  of  the  cemetery, 
rather  than  the  ghostly  owner  of  the  same.  There- 
fore, I  had  not  the  least  idea  but  what  this  was  the 
voice  of  a  human  being,  although  it  sounded  un- 
canny and  strange.  I  moved  again,  and  again  heard 
that  loud  peal  of  laughter.  This  voice  evidently 
only  mocked  when  I  moved,  for  when  I  stood  still, 
not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard.  This  time  I  gave  up 
all  thoughts  of  making  a  bed,  and  being  now  filled 
with  fear,  picked  up  the  thick  stick  with  which  I 
travelled,  and  stood  on  the  defensive,  every  moment 
expecting  to  see  a  madman  burst  from  under  the 
trees  and  in  three  leaps  and  a  bound  be  at  my 
side.  These  movements  seemed  to  cause  some  mer- 
riment, but  the  laughter  again  ceased  when  I  stood 
watching  and  waiting,  and  puzzled  how  to  act. 
Rest  was  now  out  of  the  question,  and  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  leave  that  accursed  place  instantly. 
With  this  intention  I  made  my  way  towards  the 
gate.  I  had  scarcely  moved  in  that  direction,  when 
the  laughing  began,  this  time  continuing  for  a  long 
time,  as  though  jeering  its  last  at  my  defeat.  When 
I  reached  the  gate,  and  passed  through  to  the  open 
road,  my  courage  returned,  and  I  looked  with  some 
bitterness  to  see  the  figure  of  some  country  lout 
hurrying  into  the  darkness,  after  succeeding  in  rob- 
bing me  of  my  sleep;  but,  to  my  surprise,  I  heard 
no  one,  and  could  see  no  figure  on  the  road  before 
or  behind.     It  was  now  that  superstition  took  hold 

[288] 


On  Tramp  Again 

of  me,  and  I  got  off  with  all  possible  speed,  often 
looking  back  to  see  if  I  was  pursued;  and  I  did  not 
stop  until  a  human  settlement  lay  between  me  and 
that  accursed  park.  Often  have  I  thought  of  that 
night.  It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  a  thoughtless 
ploughman,  or  farm  labourer,  would  have  stood  at 
the  roadside  and  laughed  or  shouted  once  or  twice, 
and  then  passed  on,  but  it  is  scarcely  probable  that 
he  would  have  remained  there  to  carry  his  joke  so 
far.  Granted  that  he  had  had  the  courage  to  laugh 
so  many  times,  taunting  one  at  a  distance,  where 
was  his  courage  now  that  he  had  run  away,  or  still 
stood  concealed  behind  the  trees'?  The  voice 
sounded  human,  but  still  seemed  wild  and  a  little 
unnatural.  After  much  consideration  the  only  con- 
clusion I  could  put  to  the  affair  was  that  the  voice 
came  from  a  bird  in  the  trees;  an  escaped  pet  bird 
that  could  imitate  the  human  voice.  This  solution 
of  the  mystery  did  not  altogether  satisfy  me,  for 
I  have  never  had  cause  to  believe  that  any  bird 
could  so  perfectly  imitate  the  human  voice.  Su- 
perstition must  have  thoroughly  possessed  me  for 
the  once  in  my  life,  or  I  should  not  have  walked 
all  night,  after  the  painful  exertion  of  the  day. 

If  I  settled  towards  night  time  in  any  place  where 
a  bird  came  hopping  restlessly  from  branch  to 
branch,  making  a  series  of  short  cries  of  fear,  to  let 
me  know  that  I  was  lying  too  close  to  its  nest,  I 
would  without  hesitation  shift  my  position,  often  to 

[289] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

my  own  discomfort;  but  at  the  same  tim.e,  people 
could  pass  to  and  fro  to  my  indifference. 

I  would  never  beg,  unless  forced  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity, for  I  feared  the  strange  fascination  that 
arises  from  success,  after  a  man  has  once  lost  his 
shame.  On  one  occasion  I  saw  a  well  dressed  couple 
wheeling  their  bicycles  up  an  incline,  which  was 
too  steep  to  ride.  Evidently  they  were  lovers,  for 
they  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  reach  the  top  of 
the  hill  and  end  their  conversation  by  riding.  As 
I  drew  near  the  lady  produced  her  purse,  and,  placing 
something  in  her  companion's  hand,  motioned  over 
her  shoulder  in  my  direction.  On  which  the  gentle- 
man nodded,  and  immediately  glanced  back  towards 
me.  Now,  these  people  could  not  very  well  make 
the  first  overtures,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they 
know  not  whether  a  man  is  in  want,  or  is  a  poor, 
but  proud  and  respectable  inhabitant  of  one  of  the 
adjacent  villages.  I  preferred  to  impress  them  with 
the  latter  opinion,  for,  when  I  reached  them,  I  put 
on  an  extra  spurt,  and  was  soon  beyond  their  hearing. 
No,  I  would  never  make  a  good  beggar,  for  here  was 
money  in  readiness,  to  come  at  the  sound  of  my 
voice,  or  to  be  drawn  by  the  simple  side  glance  of 
my  eye.  When  I  was  some  distance  away,  I  looked 
back,  and  saw  the  lady  looking  rather  disappointed, 
receiving  back  her  coin.  Her  companion  was 
laughing,  no  doubt  consoling  her  by  saying  that  I 
was  hardly  likely  to  be  in  actual  need,  or  I  would 

[290] 


On  Tramp  Again 

have  asked  for  assistance,  and  probably  my  home 
was  somewhere  near.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was 
that  at  this  time  I  had  not  a  copper  to  bless  my- 
self with. 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  went  on,  and  it  was 
now  the  month  of  October.  It  was  now  that  I 
began  to  find  the  necessity  of  having  a  bed  every 
night,  having  been  satisfied  up  till  then  with  a  bed 
once  or  perhaps  twice  a  week,  according  to  the  cop- 
pers received.  I  was  back  again  in  Swindon, 
having  been  there  some  time  previous,  when  on  my 
way  to  Devonshire,  The  first  three  months  of  sacri- 
fice were  over,  and  I  was  very  little  the  worse  for 
it;  but  the  next  three  months  required  different 
means,  to  correspond  with  the  difference  in  the  time 
of  year.  Shelter  was  necessary  every  night,  and 
to  meet  these  stern  demands,  I  needed  something 
to  sell,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  coppers  for  this  purpose. 
With  this  idea,  I  bought  two  dozen  laces  with  the 
last  three  coppers  I  had,  and  re-opened  business  as 
a  hawker.  The  success  with  which  I  met  in  this 
town  astonished  me,  owing,  I  believe,  to  its  being 
a  working  man's  town,  and  not  filled  with  half-pay 
officers  and  would-be  aristocrats  that  cannot  afford, 
but  still  feel  it  their  duty,  to  live  in  fine  villas 
in  the  locality  of  a  royal  residence.  The  poor, 
sympathetic  people  seemed  to  understand  a  man's 
wants.  Business  was  often  transacted  without  the 
utterance  of  words.     Taking  a  pair  of  laces,  they 

[291] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

would  give  a  copper,  and,  smiling  their  sympathy, 
close  the  door.  Often  one  would  pay  for  these  use- 
less things  and  not  take  them.  The  kindness  of 
these  people  so  filled  me  with  gratitude,  that  I  found 
it  impossible  to  continue  selling  after  I  had  received 
enough  to  supply  the  day's  wants,  which  would 
often  be  in  less  than  half  an  hour.  I  remained  here 
for  two  weeks,  being  able  to  allow  myself  half  an 
ounce  of  tobacco  and  a  halfpenny  paper  every  day. 
The  only  thing  that  worried  me  in  this  town  was 
the  persistence  of  an  old  beggar  in  the  lodging 
house.  Night  after  night,  this  man  would  advise 
me  to  go  out  and  stand  pad.  This  was,  he -ex- 
plained, that  a  man,  who  is  afflicted  with  the  loss 
of  an  arm,  a  hand  or  a  leg,  blind,  paralysed  or  lame, 
should  stand  or  sit  in  a  public  place  in  the  town, 
holding  in  his  hand  matches,  laces  or  any  other  cheap 
trifle,  so  that  he  might  invite  the  charity  of  passers 
by.  This  old  man  could  not  understand  why  this 
was  not  done,  seeing  that  it  required  no  eloquence 
— the  very  act  and  the  affliction  speaking  for  them- 
selves— and  was  so  successful  a  dodge  that  even  able- 
bodied  men  could  often  pick  up  a  shilling  or  two 
in  this  way.  At  last  I  became  so  impressed  with 
this  old  man's  eloquence,  that  I  left  the  lodging 
house  three  times  in  one  night  with  a  firm  resolution 
to  stand  pad,  and  three  times  I  returned  without 
having  done  so.     On  the  last  occasion  I  did  make 

[292] 


On  Tramp  Again 

a  little  attempt,  but  foolishly  took  up  a  position 
where  ijo  one  could  see  me. 

Before  I  left  Swindon  I  wrote  to  a  friend  of  mine 
in  Canada,  requesting  him  to  forward  me  a  pound 
to  London,  as  soon  as  possible,  which  would  be 
returned  to  him  at  the  beginning  of  the  new  year. 
I  did  this  so  that  I  might  have  a  couple  of  weeks 
at  the  end  of  December  to  prepare  my  MS.  and  to 
be  ready  for  business  as  soon  as  that  time  arrived. 
It  was  now  the  latter  end  of  October,  and  this 
pound  could  not  reach  London  far  short  of  a  month. 
Thinking  I  was  not  likely  again  to  suffer  for  want 
of  a  bed  or  food,  after  this  success  in  Swindon,  I 
bought  a  good  stock  of  laces  and  left  that  town, 
with  the  intention  of  working  the  towns  on  the 
outskirts  of  London,  so  that  when  ready  to  enter 
I  would  be  within  a  day's  march.  Unfortunately, 
after  leaving  Swindon,  success  deserted  me,  which 
was  certainly  more  my  fault  than  that  of  the 
people,  for  I  made  very  little  appeal  to  them. 
Arriving  at  Maidenhead,  I  had  the  bare  price  of 
my  bed,  with  a  dry  bread  supper  and  breakfast.  My 
laces  were  being  exhausted,  and  I  was  without  means 
to  replenish  them.  From  town  to  town  I  walked 
around  London,  sometimes  making  sixpence,  and 
always  less  than  a  shilling  a  day;  and  this  small 
amount  had  to  purchase  bed,  food,  and  occasionally 
a  couple  of  dozen  laces.     The  monotony  of  this  exist- 

[293] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

ence  was  broken  a  little  at  Guildford,  where  I  was 
arrested  on  suspicion  of  crime.  A  plain  clothes 
officer  happened  to  be  in  the  office  of  the  lodging 
house,  who,  when  he  set  eyes  upon  me,  requested  a 
few  moments  conversation,  at  the  same  time  leading 
the  way  out  into  the  yard.  He  then  came  to  a 
halt  under  a  lamp,  and,  taking  from  his  pocket  some 
papers,  began  to  read,  often  raising  his  eyes  to 
scrutinise  my  person.  "Yes,"  he  said,  at  last,  "no 
doubt  you  are  the  man  I  want,  for  you  answer  his 
description."  "I  suppose,"  was  my  answer,  "it  is 
a  case  of  arrest*?"  "It  is,"  he  said,  "and  you  must 
accompany  me  to  the  station."  On  my  way  to  that 
place  he  asked  many  a  question  of  what  I  had  done 
with  my  overcoat,  and  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
my  wife.  It  had  been  several  years  since  I  had 
owned  the  former,  and  the  latter  I  had  never  pos- 
sessed; but  this  man  could  not  be  convinced  of  either. 
"Which  way  have  you  come*?"  he  asked.  To  which 
I  mentioned  one  or  two  shires.  At  this  he  pricked 
up  his  ears,  and  asked  if  I  had  been  in  a  certain 
town  in  one  of  those  shires,  which  I  had,  and  saw 
no  reason  to  say  otherwise.  Unfortunately  this  was 
the  town  where  the  guilty  man  had  operated.  The 
detective  was  certainly  not  very  smart  when  he  took 
this  confession  as  evidence  of  guilt,  for  the  guilty 
man  would  have  mentioned  that  particular  town  as 
one  of  the  last  places  to  visit.  I  certainly  answered 
to  the  description  of  the  man  wanted,  with  the  ex- 

[294] 


On  Tramp  Again 

ception  of  not  having  a  blotchy  face,  which  had  been 
characteristic  of  the  guilty  man.  But  on  my  face 
they  saw  no  blotches,  nor  signs  of  any  having  been 
there  in  the  past.  Of  course,  I  was  discharged  in 
an  hour,  and  returned  to  the  lodging  house  for  the 
night.  The  following  day  I  happened  to  be  in 
Dorking,  and  was  walking  through  that  town,  when 
I  heard  quick  steps  behind  me,  and  a  voice  cry — 
"Halt:  I  want  you."  Turning  my  head  I  saw  it 
was  a  police  officer.  This  man  at  once  took  pos- 
session of  me,  saying  that  he  fortunately  had  been 
looking  through  the  police  station  window,  when 
he  saw  me  passing,  and  that  I  answered  to  the 
description  of  a  man  wanted — "for  that  affair  at 
Cheltenham,"  I  added.  "Ha,"  he  said,  his  face 
lighting  with  pleasure,  "how  well  you  know."  We 
returned  quietly  to  the  police  station,  and  when  I 
confronted  his  superior  officer,  I  asked  that  person 
if  I  was  to  be  arrested  in  every  town  through  which 
I  passed;  telling  my  experience  the  night  before  at 
Guildford.  After  one  or  two  questions,  and  a  care- 
ful reading  of  the  description  paper,  also  an  exami- 
nation of  my  pedlar's  certificate,  he  told  me  I  was 
at  liberty  to  go  my  way,  at  the  same  time  saying 
that  no  man  with  any  sense  would  have  arrested 
me.  After  this  I  was  not  again  troubled  by  police 
officers,  owing  perhaps,  to  their  having  arrested  the 
guilty  man. 

[295] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  day's  companion 

I  HAD  many  a  strange  experience  in  those  days, 
especially  one  with  an  old  man,  who  must 
have  been  between  seventy  and  eighty  years  of 
age.  He  accosted  me  through  the  hedges  and,  look- 
ing in  that  direction,  I  saw  him  in  the  act  of  filling 
a  quart  can  with  blackberries,  aided  by  a  thick  long 
stick  with  a  crooked  end.  "Wait  a  moment,"  said 
he,  "for  I  also  am  going  Bedford  way."  I  was 
nothing  loth  to  wait,  for  I  was  a  stranger  in  that 
part  of  the  country,  and  required  information  as 
to  which  was  the  best  cheap  lodging  house  for  the 
night.  I  knew  that  in  a  town  of  the  size  of  Bed- 
ford there  must  be  more  than  one  common  lodging 
house,  and  one  must  be  better  than  another,  if  only 
in  the  extra  smile  of  a  landlady,  regardless  of  clean 
blankets  or  cooking  accommodation. 

For  this  reason  I  waited,  and,  in  less  than  three 
minutes,  the  old  man  joined  me.  His  answer  to 
my  first  question  was  disappointing,  for  it  seemed 
that  the  number  of  lodging  houses  which  Bedford 
could  boast  were  all  public  houses,  and  there  was 
not  one  private  house  that  catered  for  beggars. 
This  was  a  real  disappointment,  for  I  knew  that 

[296] 


A  Day's  Companion 

whosoever  made  tea  at  such  a  place,  did  so  under 
the  ill  favoured  glance  of  a  landlady  or  landlord, 
perhaps  both,  who  sold  beer  ready  made.  In  fact 
the  facilities  for  making  tea,  cooking,  or  even 
washing  one's  shirt,  were  extremely  limited  at  such 
a  place,  which  made  it  very  undesirable  for  a  poor 
beggar  like  myself,  who  had  great  difficulty  in  beg- 
ging sufficient  for  his  bed  and  board,  and  did  not 
wish  to  be  reminded  of  beer. 

''Surely,"  I  said,  "there  must  be  in  a  town  the 
size  of  Bedford  one  private  lodging  house,  at  least, 
to  accommodate  tramps." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "as  a  tramp  I  have  been  going 
in  and  out  of  that  town  for  over  thirty  years,  and 
I  never  heard  of  such  a  place.  You  can  make  en- 
quiries, and  I  should  like  to  know  different,"  he 
continued,  rather  sarcastically  that  I  had  doubted 
his  knowledge.  "The  two  best  houses  are  the 
'Boot'  and  the  'Cock,'  but  seeing  that  the  former 
takes  in  women,  the  latter  I  think  would  be  the  best 
for  us.  Are  you  going  to  do  business  on  the  road?" 
he  enquired.  "Not  to-day,"  I  answered  him,  "for 
I  have  enough  for  my  bed,  and  an  extra  few  coppers 
for  food."  "All  right,"  said  he,  "we  will  travel 
together,  and  if  I  do  a  little  business  on  the  way  it 
won't  interfere  with  you,  and  we  have  plenty  of 
time  to  reach  the  lodging  house  before  dark."  Hav- 
ing no  objection  to  this  proposal  we  jogged  pleas- 
antly along. 

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The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

We  were  now  descending  a  steep  incline  and  my 
companion,  seeing  a  man  coming  in  the  opposite 
direction,  walking  beside  a  bicycle,  lost  no  time  in 
confronting  that  gentleman  and  pushing  the  black- 
berries under  his  nose.  "No,"  said  the  man,  gruffly, 
"do  you  think  I  am  going  to  carry  those  things'? 
but  here's  a  copper  for  you."  Well,  thought  I, 
this  man  will  never  sell  his  berries  if  he  does  not 
show  more  discretion  and  offer  them  to  more  likely 
customers. 

Just  after  this  we  met  a  lady  and  gentleman,  both 
well  dressed  and  apparently  well  to  do.  Touching 
his  cap  to  these  people  my  companion  soon  had  his 
blackberries  within  a  few  inches  of  their  eyes,  at  the 
same  time  using  all  his  persuasive  powers  to  induce 
them  to  make  a  purchase.  In  this  he  failed,  as  was 
to  be  expected,  but  continued  to  walk  step  by  step 
with  them  for  several  yards,  until  the  gentleman 
hastily  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  gave  the  old 
fellow  sixpence,  the  smallest  change  that  he  had. 

Several  others  were  stopped  after  this,  and  al- 
though my  fellow  traveller  failed  to  sell  his  perish- 
able goods,  a  number  of  people  assisted  him  with 
coppers.  In  one  instance  I  thought  he  surely  could 
not  be  of  sound  mind,  for  he  had  seen  a  party  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  seating  themselves  in  a  motor 
car,  and  was  hurrying  with  all  speed  in  that  direc- 
tion. In  this  case  he  failed  at  getting  a  hearing, 
for  before  he  was  half  way  towards  them,  the  party 

[298] 


A  Day's  Companion 

had  seated  themselves  and  the  car  was  moving  rap- 
idly away.  My  companion's  lips  trembled  with  vex- 
ation at  seeing  this. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  he,  crossing  the  road  to 
a  baker's  shop — "I  am  going  to  exchange  these  ber- 
ries for  buns."  Waiting  outside  I  was  soon  joined 
again  by  this  strange  old  fellow  who  then  carried 
in  his  left  hand  four  buns,  his  right  hand  still  being 
in  possession  of  the  blackberries. 

"You  will  never  sell  them,"  I  said,  "if  you  do 
not  offer  them  at  more  likely  places.  See,  there  is  a 
shop  with  fruit  and  vegetables:  try  there."  "Why," 
he  answered  with  a  grin,  "how  do  you  think  I  could 
make  a  living  if  I  sold  them^  The  market  value 
of  these  berries  is  about  one  farthing,  and  it  takes 
sixteen  farthings  to  pay  for  m)^  feather  (bed)  not 
reckoning  scrand  (food),  and  a  glass  or  two  of  skim- 
ish  (drink).  In  fact,"  said  he,  "my  day's  work 
is  done,  and  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  the  result." 
Saying  which  he  tumbled  the  blackberries  into  the 
gutter  and  placed  the  can — which  he  used  for  mak- 
ing tea — into  a  large  self-made  inside  pocket.  On 
getting  a  better  view  of  them,  I  remarked  that  no 
person  could  buy  such  berries,  for  they  were  about 
the  worst  assortment  I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life. 
"It  would  not  pay  to  make  them  very  enticing," 
said  he,  "or  they  would  find  a  too  ready  sale."  "But 
what  do  you  do  when  the  season  is  over^"  I  asked, 
"for   you    cannot    pick    blackberries    all    the    year 

[299] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

round."  "Oh,"  he  answered,  "I  have  other  ways 
of  making  a  living.  If  I  can  get  a  good  audience 
in  a  public  house,  I  can  often  make  a  day's  living 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  with  several  drinks  in  the 
bargain."  "What,  by  singing  or  dancing?"  I  asked. 
"No,"  said  he,  "but  by  reciting.  Listen  to  this." 
With  that  he  began  to  recite  a  long  poem,  line  after 
line,  until  I  began  to  hope  his  memory  would  fail 
him.  What  a  memory  it  was !  Hundreds  of  lines 
without  a  break.  When  he  came  to  the  most  dra- 
matic parts  he  paused  for  action,  and  I  knew  that 
he  was  heedless  of  the  approach  of  night,  and  had 
forgotten  that  Bedford  was  still  afar  off.  There 
was  now  no  stopping  of  him;  poem  after  poem  he 
recited,  and  he  introduced  his  subjects  with  little 
speeches  that  were  so  different  from  his  ordinary  con- 
versation, that  it  was  apparent  that  he  had  committed 
them  also  to  memory  for  the  benefit  of  a  fit  audience. 
If  he  was  so  zealous  after  a  weary  day's  walk,  and 
without  stimulants,  what  would  he  be  under  the  in- 
fluence of  several  glasses  of  strong  ale?  I  shud- 
dered to  think  of  it. 

We  were  now  about  a  mile  from  Bedford,  and 
my  companion  had  for  the  last  hour  been  reciting; 
as  for  myself  I  was  travelling  alone,  for  I  had  for- 
gotten him.  Sometimes  to  my  confusion  he  would 
startle  me  by  a  sudden  question,  but  seeing  that  he 
made  no  pause  for  an  answer,  I  soon  understood  that 

[300] 


A  Day's  Companion 

no  answer  was  required  of  me,  for  that  he  was  still 
reciting. 

As  we  entered  the  outskirts  of  Bedford,  my  com- 
panion found  it  necessary,  owing  to  increase  of 
traffic,  to  raise  his  voice,  which  he  continued  to  do 
until  at  last  the  traffic  became  so  very  great  that 
he  could  not  make  himself  heard.  I  had  not  heard 
his  voice  for  the  last  five  minutes,  when  he  suddenly 
clutched  my  shoulder  and  demanded  what  I  thought 
of  that.  "You  have  a  wonderful  memory,"  I  said. 
"Oh,"  said  he,  "that  is  nothing;  I  could  entertain 
you  for  several  days  in  like  manner,  with  fresh 
matter  each  day.  Here  we  are  at  the  'Cock.'  I 
like  your  company  and,  if  you  are  travelling  my 
way  to-morrow,  let  us  go  together.  It  is  not  every 
man  that  I  would  travel  with  two  days  in  succes- 
sion." And,  thought  I,  it  is  not  every  man  would 
travel  in  your  company  two  days  in  succession. 
"Which  way  are  you  going^"  I  asked  him.  "To- 
wards Northampton,"  said  he.  "Alas,"  I  answered, 
"my  direction  is  altogether  different." 

We  now  entered  the  "Cock,"  and  after  calling 
for  two  glasses  of  ale,  enquired  as  to  accommoda- 
tion for  travellers,  which  we  were  informed  was 
good,  there  being  plenty  of  room.  Sometimes,  if 
ale  is  not  called  for,  they  are  disinclined  to  letting 
beds,  especially  in  the  winter,  when  they  find  so 
little  difficulty  in  filling  the  house. 

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The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

On  entering  the  kitchen  we  found  it  occupied  by 
a  number  of  men,  some  of  whom  recognised  my 
fellow  traveller,  and  spoke  to  him.  But,  strange  to 
say,  although  this  man  had  proved  so  garrulous  with 
one  for  a  companion,  with  the  many  he  had  very 
little  to  say,  and  sat  in  a  corner  all  through  the  eve- 
ning smoking  in  silence,  and  paying  no  heed  to  others 
either  by  tongue,  eye,  or  ear.  Once  or  twice  I  saw 
his  lips  move,  when  filling  his  pipe,  or  knocking  out 
its  ashes,  and  I  thought  that  he  was  perhaps  re- 
hearsing and  training  his  memory  for  the  following 
day,  in  case  he  would  be  again  fortunate  in  picking 
up  with  an  easy  fool  like  myself.  For,  no  doubt, 
the  poor  old  fellow  had  been  often  commanded  to 
desist  from  reciting,  and  ordered  to  hell  by  impa- 
tient and  unsympathetic  men  whom  he  had  at  first 
mistaken  for  quiet  and  good  natured  companions. 
I  had  not  by  a  look  or  a  word  sought  to  offend  him, 
but  one  day  of  his  company  was  certainly  enough. 


[302] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    FORTUNE 

IT  is  not  unusual  to  read  of  cases  where  men  who 
have  descended  to  the  lowest  forms  of  labour 
— aye,  even  become  tramps — being  sought  and 
found  as  heirs  to  fortunes,  left  often  by  people  who 
either  had  no  power  to  will  otherwise,  or  whom 
death  had  taken  unawares.  Therefore,  when  one 
fine  morning  a  cab  drove  up  to  a  beer-house,  which 
was  also  a  tramps'  lodging  house,  and  a  well  dressed 
gentleman  entered  and  enquired  of  the  landlord  for 
a  man  named  James  Macquire — the  landlord  at 
once  pronounced  him  to  be  a  solicitor  in  quest  of 
a  lost  heir.  "Sir,"  said  he,  "we  do  not  take  the 
names  of  our  lodgers,  but  several  are  now  in  the 
kitchen.  James  Macquire,  you  said*?"  On  receiv- 
ing answer  in  the  affirmative  the  landlord  at  once 
visited  the  lodgers'  kitchen,  and  standing  at  the  door 
enquired  in  a  very  respectable  manner  if  there  was 
any  gentleman  present  by  the  name  of  Macquire, 
whose  christian  name  was  James.  At  which  a  deli- 
cate looking  man,  who  had  arrived  the  previous  night, 
sprang  quickly  to  his  feet  and  said  in  a  surprised 
voice — "That  is  my  name."     "Well,"  said  the  land- 

[303] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

lord,  "a  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you  at  once;  he 
came  here  in  a  cab,  and,  for  your  sake,  I  trust  my 
surmises  are  right." 

With  the  exception  of  having  on  a  good  clean 
white  shirt,  the  man  Macquire  was  ill  clad,  and  he 
looked  ruefully  at  his  clothes,  and  then  at  the  land- 
lord. "Please  ask  the  gentleman  to  wait,"  said  he, 
and,  going  to  the  tap,  began  to  wash  his  hands  and 
face,  after  which  he  carefully  combed  his  hair. 

The  strange  gentleman  was  seated  quietly  in  the 
bar  when  the  man  Macquire  presented  himself,  and 
the  landlord  was  engaged  in  washing  glasses  and 
dusting  decanters.  "Mr.  James  Macquire^"  asked 
the  gentleman,  rising  and  addressing  the  ill-clad  one 
in  a  respectful  manner,  which  the  landlord  could 
not  help  but  notice.  "That  is  my  name,"  answered 
Macquire,  with  some  dignity.  "Do  you  know  any- 
thing of  Mr.  Frederick  Macquire,  of  Doggery  Hall*?" 
asked  the  gentleman.  "I  do,"  said  the  ill-clad  one; 
and,  after  a  long  pause,  and  seeming  to  give  the  in- 
formation with  much  reluctance,  he  added — "Mr. 
Frederick  Macquire,  of  Doggery  Hall,  is  my  uncle." 
Several  other  questions  were  asked  and  answered. 
"That  will  do,  thank  you,"  said  the  gentleman; 
"will  you  please  call  at  the  'King's  Head'  and  see 
me  at  seven  p.  m.?  You  have  been  advertised  for 
since  the  death  of  Mr.  Frederick  Macquire,  some 
weeks  ago.  Good  morning,"  he  said,  shaking  James 
Macquire  by  the  hand  in  a  highly  respectful  manner, 

[304] 


The  Fortune 

as  the  landlord  could  not  fail  to  see,  totally  regard- 
less of  the  man's  rags. 

The  ill-clad  one  stood  at  the  bar  speechless,  ap- 
parently absorbed  in  deep  thought.  "What  will  you 
have  to  drink  ^"  asked  the  landlord  kindly. 
"Whisky,"  answered  Macquire,  in  a  faint  voice. 
After  drinking  this,  and  another,  he  seemed  to  re- 
cover his  composure,  and  said  to  the  landlord — 
"I  am  at  present,  as  you  must  know,  penniless,  and 
you  would  greatly  oblige  me  by  the  loan  of  a  few 
shillings,  say  half  a  sovereign  until  I  draw  a  couple 
of  hundred  pounds  in  advance.  Whatever  I  re- 
ceive from  you,  you  shall  have  a  receipt,  and,  al- 
though nothing  is  said  about  interest,  the  amount 
owing  will  be  doubled,  aye  trebled,  you  may  rest 
assured  of  that,  for  I  never  forget  a  kindness." 
"You  had  better  take  a  sovereign,"  said  the  land- 
lord, "and,  of  course,  the  Mrs.  will  supply  any  meals 
you  may  need,  and  drink  is  at  your  disposal." 
"Thank  you,"  said  Macquire,  in  a  choking  voice — 
"let  me  have  a  couple  of  pots  of  your  best  ale  for 
the  poor  fellows  in  the  kitchen." 

What  a  surprise  for  the  poor  lodgers  when  they 
were  asked  to  drink  Macquire's  health!  On  being 
told  of  his  good  fortune,  they  one  and  all  cheered 
and  congratulated  him.  But  the  easy  way  in  which 
this  man  Macquire  threw  his  weight  about  the 
kitchen  and,  for  that  matter,  the  whole  house  was 
extraordinary. 

[305] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

Now  it  happened  that  there  were  at  this  house 
two  stonemasons  who,  although  heavy  drinkers,  had 
been  working  steady  for  a  week  or  more,  for  their 
job  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  they  knew  not  how 
many  idle  weeks  might  follow.  These  men  were 
at  breakfast  and,  being  repeatedly  offered  drink, 
grew  careless  and  resolved  to  quit  work  there  and 
then  and  draw  their  money,  which  amounted  to  three 
pounds  ten  shillings  between  them.  Macquire  fa- 
voured this  resolution  and,  said  he,  "Before  your 
money  is  spent,  I  shall  have  a  couple  of  hundred 
pounds  at  my  disposal."  The  landlord  was  present 
at  the  passing  of  this  resolution  and,  though  he  said 
nothing,  apparently  favoured  it,  for  he  laughed 
pleasantly. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  Macquire  and  the  two 
stonemasons  were  back  in  the  lodging  house  kitchen, 
and  drinking  ale  as  fast  as  they  possibly  could.  In 
a  number  of  cases  the  former  received  money  from 
his  new  friends  to  buy  the  beer,  but,  according  to 
after  developments  he  must  have  pocketed  this 
money  and  had  the  beer  entered  to  his  account,  in 
addition  to  that  which  he  fetched  of  his  own  accord. 
However,  when  evening  came  Macquire,  though 
seemingly  possessed  of  business  faculties,  was  not 
in  a  bodily  condition  to  keep  his  lawyer's  appoint- 
ment. As  he  himself  confessed — "he  was  drunk  in 
the  legs,  but  sober  in  the  brain."  What  an  evening 
we  had  I     Not  one  man  in  the  house  retired  sober, 

[306] 


The  Fortune 

and  the  kindness  of  the  ill-clad  one  brought  tears 
into  a  number  of  eyes,  for  he  made  the  stonemasons 
spend  their  money  freely,  and  he  made  the  landlord 
fetch  pot  after  pot,  and  all  he  did  in  the  way  of  pay- 
ment was  to  utter  that  name,  grown  strangely  power- 
ful— James  Macquire. 

Now  when  the  next  morning  came  there  seemed  to 
be  a  suspicion  that  all  was  not  right.  For,  as  soon 
as  James  Macquire  put  in  an  appearance,  one  of  the 
stonemasons  abruptly  asked  when  he  intended  to 
see  the  lawyer.  At  this  moment  the  landlord  en- 
tered, and,  though  he  had  not  heard  the  question, 
he  too,  would  like  to  know  when  Macquire  intended 
seeing  his  lawyer.  "Don't  bother  me,"  said  Mac- 
quire, "you  see  what  a  state  I  am  in,  trembling 
after  drink?'  "I'll  soon  put  you  right,"  said  the 
landlord,  leaving  the  kitchen,  and  entering  the  bar. 

The  stonemasons  offered  their  future  benefactor 
a  drink  of  beer,  which  he  waved  aside,  saying  that 
he  must  first  have  a  short  drink  to  steady  his  stomach. 
"You  don't  mind  giving  me  a  saucerful  of  your  tea*?" 
said  Macquire  to  me,  for  I  was  then  at  breakfast. 
"With  pleasure,"  said  I,  and,  filling  the  saucer 
pushed  it  towards  him.  "Thank  you,"  said  he, 
after  drinking  it — "that  saucer  of  tea  has  cost  me  a 
sovereign  I"  "Nonsense,"  said  I,  inwardly  pleased, 
"it  is  of  no  value  whatever."  "Have  you  any  to- 
bacco*?" he  asked.  At  this  question  one  of  the 
stonemasons,  in  fear  that  Macquire  would  promise 

[307] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

me  more  money,  sprang  forward  with  tobacco.  "I 
am  not  asking  you  for  tobacco,"  said  Macquire  slowly 
— "but  am  asking  this  gentleman."  This  was  said 
in  such  a  way  as  could  not  give  offence ;  as  much  as 
to  say  that  he  already  knew  that  the  stonemason's 
heart  was  good,  but  that  he  felt  disposed  to  test 
mine  and,  if  he  found  it  generous,  he  would  not  for- 
get me  when  he  came  into  his  estate.  Not  setting 
great  value  on  a  pipeful  of  tobacco,  I  offered  him 
my  pouch  to  help  himself.  After  he  had  filled  his 
pipe,  he  said,  in  an  abrupt  manner,  as  he  was  walk- 
ing towards  the  bar — "Please  remember,  friend,  I 
am  five  pounds  in  your  debt."  "What  a  fine  fellow 
he  is,"  said  the  stonemason  to  me;  "for  the  few  kind- 
nesses we  did  him  yesterday,  he  has  promised  me  and 
my  pal  twenty  pounds  each  out  of  his  first  advance, 
and  larger  sums  to  follow." 

At  this  moment  the  postman  entered  with  a  letter 
addressed  to  James  Macquire,  Esq.  If  the  land- 
lord, or  any  one  else,  had  the  least  suspicion  earlier 
in  the  morning,  it  certainly  vanished  at  the  sight  of 
this  letter.  Macquire  opened  the  letter  and,  after 
reading  it,  passed  it  to  the  landlord.  That  gentle- 
man's face  beamed  with  satisfaction,  although  it  was 
but  an  ordinary  note  saying  that  the  lawyer  had 
expected  Macquire  the  night  previous,  and  trusted 
that  he  would  keep  the  appointment  at  the  same 
hour  on  the  following  day,  by  which  time  the  law- 
yer woiild  be  able   to  advance  him  some  money. 

[308] 


The  Fortune 

"That's  something  like  business,"  said  Macquire,  to 
which  every  one  agreed,  the  landlord  and  the  stone- 
masons showing  the  most  approval. 

"Now,"  said  James  Macquire  to  the  landlord, 
"you  had  better  let  me  have  some  money."  "What 
for?"  asked  that  gentleman;  "you  can  have  any- 
thing that  you  require,  as  I  told  you  before." 
"Just  for  my  own  satisfaction,"  said  Macquire.  "I 
am  going  to  walk  out  for  a  while,  so  as  to  keep 
myself  sober  for  business."  "You  can't  go  out  in 
those  rags,"  said  the  landlord — "you  had  better  take 
my  best  suit." 

In  ten  minutes  or  less  the  ill-clad  one  was  stand- 
ing at  the  bar  in  the  landlord's  best  suit  of  clothes, 
after  which  the  said  landlord  gave  him  all  the  money 
available,  amounting  to  thirty  shillings.  "How 
much  am  I  in  your  debt?"  asked  Macquire.  "Oh, 
about  three  pounds,"  was  the  answer.  "We  will 
call  it  fifty  pounds,"  cried  Macquire  and,  drinking 
his  whisky,  he  left  the  house,  followed  closely  by 
the  faithful  stonemasons. 

In  half  an  hour  the  stonemasons  were  back,  having 
lost  their  companion  in  the  market  place,  and  were 
at  the  bar  awaiting  him,  thinking  he  might  have 
already  returned.  Yes,  and  they  could  wait,  for 
that  was  the  last  of  Macquire,  and,  to  the  surprise 
and  mortification  of  the  landlord  and  the  two  stone- 
masons, the  house  received  no  more  visits  or  letters 
from  lawyers. 

[309] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SOME    WAYS    OF    MAKING    A    LIVING 

NO  doubt  laces  are  the  best  stock  to  carry,  for 
a  gross  of  them  can  be  had  for  eighteen 
pence,  sometimes  less,  which,  sold  at  a 
penny  a  pair,  realises  six  shillings;  and,  counting  the 
number  of  pennies  that  are  tendered  free  in  pity  for 
the  man's  circumstances,  who  must  be  cunning 
enough  to  show  only  two  or  three  pairs  at  a  time — he 
has  nothing  to  complain  of  in  the  end.  Although  he 
sometimes  meets  a  lady  who  persists  in  regarding 
him  as  a  trader  and  bargains  for  two  pairs  for  three 
halfpence,  and  ultimately  carries  them  off  in  tri- 
umph— in  spite  of  his  whine  of  not  being  able  to 
make  bed  and  board  out  of  them — in  spite  of  these 
rare  instances,  he  must  confess  that  in  the  end  he 
has  received  eight  or  nine  shillings  for  an  outlay 
of  eighteen  pence,  and,  what  is  more,  an  abundance 
of  free  food.  Then,  again,  laces  are  light,  they  are 
easy  to  carry  and  can  be  stored  in  one  coat-pocket. 
Another  great  advantage  is  that  although  a  man 
may  get  wet  through,  or  roll  on  his  laces  in  the  grass, 
he  does  not  spoil  his  living.  In  fact,  if  they  be- 
come crumpled  and  twisted  and  their  tags  rusty, 

[310] 


Some  Ways  of  Making  a  Living 

he  makes  them  his  testimony  that  he  was  wet 
through,  being  out  all  night,  which  story  rarely  fails 
in  coppers  and  he  still  retains  his  laces. 

But  with  all  these  advantages  of  a  light  and  profit- 
able stock,  there  are  two  men  who  scorn  to  carry 
even  these  and  will  not  on  any  account  make  any 
pretence  at  selling.  These  two  men  are  the  gridler 
and  the  downrighter.  The  former  sings  hymns  in 
the  streets,  and  he  makes  his  living  by  the  sound  of 
his  voice.  Professional  singers  are  paid  according 
to  the  richness,  sweetness,  and  compass  of  their 
voices,  but  the  gridler's  profit  increases  as  his  vocal 
powers  decline.  The  more  shaky  and  harsh  his  voice 
becomes,  the  greater  his  reward.  With  a  tongue 
like  a  rasp  he  smoothes  the  roughness  off  hard  hearts. 
With  a  voice  like  an  old  hen  he  ushers  in  the  golden 
egg.  With  a  base  mixture  of  treble,  contralto  and 
bass,  he  produces  good  metal  which  falls  from  top 
story  windows,  or  is  thrown  from  front  doors,  to 
drop  at  his  feet  with  the  true  ring.  Then,  if  the 
voice  be  immaterial,  where  lies  the  art  of  gridling"? 
No  more  or  less  than  in  the  selection  of  hymns, 
which  must  be  simple  and  pathetic  and  familiar  to 
all.  Let  the  gridler  supply  the  words  sufficiently 
to  be  understood,  and  the  simple  air  with  variations 
— a  good  gridler  often  misses  parts  of  the  air  itself 
for  breathing  spells  and  in  stooping  for  coppers — 
let  him  supply  the  words,  I  say,  and  his  hearers  will 
supply  the  feeling.     For  instance,  if  a  gridler  has 

[311] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

sung  an  old  well  known  hymn  fifty  or  sixty  times  a 
day  for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  he  cannot  reasonably 
be  expected  to  be  affected  by  the  words.  It  would 
be  extremely  thoughtless  to  request  of  such  an  one 
an  encore  without  giving  a  promise  of  further  re- 
ward. In  fact  this  man  is  really  so  weary  of  song 
that  if  there  is  any  merry  making  at  the  lodging 
house,  he  is  the  one  man  who  will  not  sing,  not  even 
under  the  influence  of  drink;  and,  what  is  more  no 
man  would  invite  him  for,  being  a  gridler  and  earn- 
ing his  living  by  song,  we  know  well  that  his  voice 
is  spoilt,  and  that  he  cannot  sing.  The  gridler  con- 
siders himself  to  be  at  the  top  of  the  begging  pro- 
fession, for  his  stock  never  gets  low,  nor  requires 
replenishing;  and  his  voice  is  only  a  Httle  weak 
thing  of  no  weight,  the  notes  of  which  are  born  into 
the  world  from  his  throat,  and  was  never  roused 
from  sleep  in  the  depths  of  his  chest.  There  is  no 
strain  or  effort  in  giving  these  notes  to  the  world — 
despite  the  gridler's  affectations — and  he  neither 
grows  pale  nor  red  with  the  exertion. 

But  the  downrighter  not  only  scorns  grinders,  ped- 
lars, etc.,  but  he  even  despises  the  gridler  for  being 
a  hard  worker.  "I,"  says  he,  "do  not  carry  laces, 
needles,  matches,  or  anything  else;  and  I  do  not 
advertise  my  presence  to  the  police  by  singing  in 
the  streets.  If  people  are  not  in  the  front  of  the 
house,  I  seek  them  at  the  back,  where  a  gridler's 
voice  may  not  reach  them.     I  am  not  satisfied  with 

[312] 


Some  Ways  of  Making  a  Living 

getting  a  penny  for  a  farthing  pair  of  laces — I  get 
the  whole  penny  for  nothing.  People  never  mis- 
take me  for  a  trader,  for  I  exhibit  no  wares,  and  tell 
them  straightforward  that  I  am  begging  the  price 
of  my  supper  and  bed." 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  all  these  men  have 
different  ways  of  making  a  living,  and  each  man 
thinks  his  own  way  the  best  and  fears  to  make  new 
experiments,  such  an  opinion  being  good  for  the 
trade  of  begging.  Sometimes,  owing  to  the  vigi- 
lance of  the  police,  and  their  strict  laws,  the  gridler 
has  to  resort  to  downright  begging,  but  his  heart 
is  not  in  the  business,  and  he  is  for  that  reason  un- 
successful. He  longs  to  get  in  some  quiet  side  street 
where  he  can  chant  slowly  his  well  known  hymns. 
But  everything  is  in  favour  of  the  more  silent  down- 
righter;  who  allows  nothing  to  escape  him,  neither 
stores,  private  or  public  houses,  nor  pedestrians.  All 
he  is  required  to  do  is  to  keep  himself  looking  some- 
thing like  a  working  man,  and  he  receives  more 
charity  in  the  alehouse  by  a  straightforward  appeal 
as  an  unemployed  workman,  than  another  who 
wastes  his  time  in  giving  a  song  and  a  dance.  Peo- 
ple often  hurry  past  when  they  hear  a  man  singing, 
or  see  one  approaching  with  matches  or  laces,  but 
the  downrighter  claims  their  attention  before  they 
suspect  his  business. 

When  I  met  Long  John  at  Oxford,  we  had  much 
talk  of  the  merits  of  different  parts  of  a  beggar's 

[313] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

profession.  He,  it  seemed,  had  carried  laces;  he 
had  also  gridled  sacred  hymns  in  the  streets,  and 
sung  sporting  songs  in  the  alehouses;  he  had  even 
exerted  himself  as  a  dancer,  "but,"  said  he,  "I  must 
confess,  after  all,  that  as  a  downrighter  my  profits 
are  larger,  at  the  expenditure  of  far  less  energy." 

In  the  course  of  conversation  Long  John  informed 
me  that  he  also  was  travelling  London  way,  and  if 
I  was  agreeable  we  would  start  together  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  "And,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  so 
that  other  lodgers  might  not  hear — "there  is  a  house 
on  our  way  that  is  good  for  a  shilling  each.  He 
is  a  very  rich  man  and  has  been  an  officer  in  the 
army.  He  pretends  to  be  prejudiced  against  old 
soldiers,  and  when  they  appeal  to  him,  he  first  abuses 
them,  after  which  he  drills  them  and,  after  abusing 
them  again  rewards  each  with  a  two  shilling  piece. 
Do  you  know  the  drills'?"  "No,"  I  answered,  "I 
have  never  been  in  the  army."  "That  is  a  great 
pity,"  said  Long  John,  "for  we  lose  a  shilling  each. 
However,  we  will  not  say  that  we  are  old  soldiers, 
for  fear  of  losing  all,  and  be  satisfied  with  the  two 
shillings  between  us."     So  it  was  agreed. 

In  less  than  two  hours  we  were  at  the  gentleman's 
lodge.  Passing  boldly  through  the  gates  we  fol- 
lowed the  drive  until  we  saw  before  us  a  fine  large 
mansion.  Reaching  the  front  door  we  rang  the  bell, 
which  was  soon  answered  by  a  servant.  To  our 
enquiries  as  to  whether  the  master  was  in  the  servant 

[314] 


Some  Ways  of  Making  a  Living 

replied  in  the  negative,  but  intimated  that  the  mis- 
tress was.  Of  course,  this  made  not  the  least  dif- 
ference, as  many  a  tramp  knew,  except  that  had  we 
been  old  soldiers  the  lady  not  being  able  to  test  us 
by  drill,  would  therefore  not  have  given  more  than 
the  civilian's  shilling.  Now,  almost  unfortunately 
for  us,  the  downrighter,  knowing  that  the  lady 
would  not  drill  us,  and  thinking  that  there  might  be 
a  possibility  of  getting  the  master's  double  pay  to 
old  soldiers,  without  danger  of  drill  or  cross  examina- 
tion— suddenly  made  up  his  mind  "to  say  that  we 
were  two  old  soldiers.  For,  thought  he,  if  it  does 
no  good,  it  cannot  do  any  harm.  Therefore,  when 
the  lady  appeared  smiling  at  the  door  Long  John, 
being  spokesman,  told  a  straightforward  tale  of  hard- 
ship, and  added  that  we  had  both  served  our  country 
on  the  battlefield  as  soldiers.  He  had  scarcely  men- 
tioned the  word  soldiers  when  a  loud  authoritative 
voice  behind  us  cried — "Shoulder  Arms  I"  I  was 
leaning  heavily  on  a  thick  stick  when  this  command 
was  given,  but  lost  my  balance  and  almost  fell  to 
the  ground.  We  both  turned  our  faces  towards  the 
speaker  and  saw  a  tall  military  looking  gentleman 
scrutinising  us  with  two  very  sharp  eyes.  Giving 
us  but  very  little  time  to  compose  ourselves  he 
shouted  again — "Present  Arms  I"  This  second  com- 
mand was  no  more  obeyed  than  the  first.  Long 
John  blew  his  nose,  and  I  stood  at  ease  on  my  staff, 
as  though  I  did  not  care  whether  the  dogs  were  set 

[315] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

upon  us  or  we  were  to  be  lodged  in  jail.  After  an- 
other uncomfortable  pause  the  retired  officer  said, 
looking  at  us  severely — "Two  old  soldiers,  indeed! 
You  are  two  imposters  and  scoundrels  I  Perhaps  you 
understand  this  command" — and  in  a  voice  fiercer 
and  louder  than  ever  he  cried,  "Quick  March!" 
Long  John  and  I,  although  not  old  soldiers,  certainly 
understood  this  command,  for  we  started  down  the 
drive  at  a  good  pace,  with  the  military  looking  gen- 
tleman following.  When  we  reached  the  public 
road,  he  gave  another  command — "Halt!"  But 
this  was  another  of  those  commands  which  we  did 
not  understand.  However,  on  its  being  repeated 
less  sternly  we  obeyed.  "Here,"  said  he,  "you  are 
not  two  old  soldiers,  but  you  may  not  be  altogether 
scoundrels;  and  I  never  turn  men  away  without  giv- 
ing them  some  assistance."  Saying  which  he  gave 
us  a  shilling  each.  But  what  a  narrow  escape  we 
had  of  being  turned  penniless  away,  all  through  Long 
John's  greed  and  folly! 


[316] 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

AT    LAST 

IN  spite  of  these  occasional  successes  with  Long 
John  and  others,  I  was  often  at  my  wits'  ends 
to  procure  food  and  shelter.  This  always  hap- 
pened when  I  travelled  alone.  I  was  now  heartily 
sick  of  this  wandering  from  town  to  town,  and  every 
day  seemed  to  get  more  unfortunate;  until  the  first 
day  in  December,  when,  forced  by  extreme  want,  I 
resolved  to  enter  the  city  at  once,  knowing  that  a 
pound  was  already  there  waiting  my  pleasure.  That 
night  I  was  back  in  the  Farmhouse;  and  what  a 
genial  spirit  seemed  to  animate  the  old  coke  fire  I 
Not  at  all  like  the  death  dealer,  the  waster  of  time, 
who  robbed  a  human  being  of  his  energy  and  a  kitten 
of  its  play.  Oh,  no;  for  this  one  night  we  were  the 
best  of  friends,  and  sunny  smiles  passed  between  us 
until  bed  time. 

I  had  been  away  five  months,  and  would  still  have 
to  suffer  owing  to  this  early  return;  knowing  that 
I  would  not  have  courage  to  sell  in  the  streets  of 
London,  and  that  I  would  be  compelled  to  eke  out 
a  living  on  five  shillings  a  week,  until  the  beginning 
of  the  new  year — this  being  a  half  crown  for  lodg- 
ings, and  the  same  for  food. 

[317] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

I  was  very  well  satisfied  with  myself  at  this  time, 
with  the  prospect  of  the  new  year  before  me;  and 
at  once  began  to  get  my  work  ready  for  the  press. 
When  all  original  composition  was  done,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  make  ready  a  copy  for  the  printer,  even 
at  this  time  I  was  confronted  with  a  foolish  hin- 
drance. One  library  in  Lambeth,  which  at  one  time 
had  a  table  with  pens,  ink  and  blotting  pads  for 
the  convenience  of  visitors,  had  had  these  things  re- 
moved; but  seeing  no  sign  to  the  contrary,  I  still 
thought  I  would  be  allowed  to  take  possession  of 
a  corner  of  this  table  and  write,  providing  I  sup- 
plied my  own  material.  So,  this  library  was  chosen 
for  my  week's  writing,  but  I  was  warned  off  at  the 
commencement.  Thoroughly  incensed  at  this  fresh 
and  paltry  hindrance,  I  sought  a  library  where  I 
knew  my  work  could  be  continued  without  inter- 
ference, even  if  the  writing  of  it  took  some  years. 
This  library  was  not  so  convenient  as  the  other,  be- 
ing some  distance  away,  but  there  I  at  last  succeeded 
in  performing  my  task. 

Now  came  the  new  year  when,  independent  of 
others,  I  would  be  enabled  to  assist  myself.  If  I 
failed  in  making  success,  the  disappointment  would 
be  mine  only,  and  if  I  succeeded,  there  would  be 
none  other  to  thank  but  myself.  On  receiving  this 
money,  in  the  first  week  in  January,  I  lost  no  time 
in  seeing  the  printer  and  arranging  for  an  edition 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  copies,  the  cost  to  be  nine- 

[318] 


At  Last 

teen  pounds.  This  amount  certainly  did  not  cover 
expenses,  and  here  began  the  series  of  kindnesses 
which,  after  a  few  more  disappointments,  were  to 
follow.  This  printer  placed  the  MS.  in  the  hands 
of  a  good  reader,  and  that  gentleman  was  put  to 
considerable  trouble,  being  baffled  and  interested  in 
turns.  The  last  two  lines  of  a  poem  entitled  "The 
hill  side  park"  are  entirely  his,  both  in  thought  and 
expression.  I  mention  this  because  two  or  three 
correspondents  liked  the  poem  in  question,  and  one 
thought  the  last  two  lines  the  best;  so,  I  take  this 
opportunity  to  clear  my  conscience.  There  was 
nothing  to  complain  of,  both  printer  and  reader 
being  at  great  pains  and  patience  to  make  the  work 
better  than  it  was.  Naturally,  I  thought  if  there 
was  any  interest  shown,  it  would  not  be  in  the 
author's  personality,  but  in  the  work  itself,  and  for 
this  reason,  gave  the  Farmhouse,  a  common  lodging 
house,  as  my  address.  I  was  under  the  impression 
that  people  would  uninterestedly  think  the  Farm- 
house to  be  a  small  printing  establishment,  or  a  small 
publishing  concern  of  which  they  had  not  heard;  to 
which  they  would  forward  their  orders,  and  business 
would  be  transacted  without  their  being  any  the 
wiser.  In  the  first  week  in  March  I  received  my 
first  printed  copy. 

The  printer  had  sent  thirty  copies  or  more  to  the 
various  papers,  and  I  was  now  waiting  the  result, 
which  at  last  came  in  the  shape  of  two  very  slim 

[319] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

reviews  from  the  North;  a  Yorkshire  paper  saying 
that  the  work  had  rhymes  that  were  neither  intricate 
nor  original,  and  a  Scotch  paper  saying  that  the 
work  was  perfect  in  craftsmanship  rather  than  in- 
spired. This  was  very  disappointing,  more  so  to 
know  that  others,  who  were  powerless  to  assist  me, 
were  interesting  themselves  on  my  behalf.  Al- 
though I  still  had  confidence  that  the  work  contained 
some  good  things,  I  began  to  think  that  there  must 
be  some  glaring  faults  which  made  the  book,  as  a 
whole,  impossible  to  review.  This  first  thought  be- 
came my  first  belief  when  other  notices  did  not  fol- 
low. 

Weeks  and  weeks  went  by  and,  having  now  started 
to  drink,  and  losing  control  of  my  will  in  this  dis- 
appointment, I  had  come  down  to  my  last  ten  shill- 
ings, and  had  a  good  seven  months  to  go  before 
my  money  was  again  due.  First  of  all  I  had  serious 
thoughts  of  destroying  this  work — the  whole  two 
hundred  and  odd  copies,  which  were  under  lock  and 
key  in  my  room,  and  to  then  set  to  work  carefully 
on  new  matter,  and,  when  my  income  was  again  due, 
to  again  mortgage  it  in  another  attempt.  Being 
very  impulsive,  this  no  doubt  would  have  been  there 
and  then  commenced,  had  I  not  been  confronted 
with  the  difficulty  of  doing  so.  There  was  only 
one  way  of  doing  this  properly,  and  that  was  by 
fire,  which  would  require  privacy.  My  room  was 
the  only  place  where  I  could  do  this  without  being 

[320] 


At  Last 

seen,  but  that  contained  neither  stove  nor  grate ;  and, 
even  if  it  had,  two  hundred  books  would  take  a  num- 
ber of  sleepless  nights  to  render  into  ashes.  I 
thought  with  some  bitterness  of  having  to  go  on 
tramp  again,  and  it  was  in  one  of  these  bitter  mo- 
ments that  I  swore  a  great  oath  that  these  copies, 
good  or  bad,  should  maintain  me  until  the  end  of 
the  year.  For  I  would  distribute  the  books  here  and 
there,  sending  them  to  successful  people,  and  they 
would  probably  pay  for  their  copies,  perhaps  not 
so  much  for  what  merit  they  might  think  the  work 
contained,  as  for  the  sake  of  circumstances.  This  idea 
no  sooner  possessed  me  than  I  began  preparing  for 
its  execution.  For  this  purpose  I  obtained  stamps 
and  envelopes,  and  six  copies  were  at  once  posted. 
The  result  was  seen  in  a  couple  of  days — three  let- 
ters, two  containing  the  price  of  the  book,  and  the 
third  from  the  Charity  Organisation,  the  latter  writ- 
ing on  behalf  of  a  gentleman  who  had  become  in- 
terested, and  would  like  to  come  to  my  assistance. 
Remembering  these  people  in  the  past,  through  my 
former  experience  with  them,  I  had  no  great  hopes 
at  the  present  time,  in  spite  of  the  kind  hearted  in- 
terest of  the  gentleman  in  question.  However,  I 
called  on  them  the  next  morning,  and  after  the  usual 
long  wait  in  a  side  room — which,  I  believe,  is  not 
through  any  great  stress  of  business,  but  so  as  to 
bring  one's  heart  down  to  the  freezing  point  of  ab- 
ject misery,  and  to  extinguish  one  by  one  his  many 

[321] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

hopes — after  this  weary  waiting,  I  received  an  inter- 
view. There  is  not  sufficient  venom  in  my  disposi- 
tion to  allow  me  to  describe  this  meeting  in  words 
fit  and  bitter  for  its  need.  This  life  is  too  short  to 
enable  me  to  recover  from  my  astonishment,  which 
will  fill  me  for  a  good  many  years  to  come.  The 
questions  and  answers  which  had  passed  between  us 
on  our  former  interview, — two  years  previous,  were 
now  before  them.  But  they  questioned  again  in  the 
same  strain,  and  my  answers  corresponded  with  those 
of  the  past,  for  I  told  no  lies.  Apparently  they  had 
no  chance  here,  so  they  came  at  once  to  the  business 
in  had.  "You  have  written  to  a  gentleman,  asking 
for  his  assistance *?"  Not  liking  this  way  of  ex- 
plaining my  conduct,  I  said — "No,  not  exactly  that, 
but  have  been  trying  to  sell  him  some  work  that  I 
had  done."  It  seemed  that  they  knew  nothing  of 
this  work — or  that  it  better  suited  their  purpose  to 
appear  ignorant — so  it  was  necessary  to  give  them 
the  full  particulars.  "Was  not  the  book  a  suc- 
cess"?" they  asked.  Not  caring  to  admit  failure, 
and  still  thinking  the  work  worthy  of  a  little  suc- 
cess, I  answered — "Not  yet,  but  it  is  too  early  to 
judge  it  as  a  failure."  Then  I  gave  it  in  confidence 
that  a  gentleman,  well  known  in  Southwark,  and 
who  often  wrote  articles  on  literary  subjects,  had 
promised  to  review  it  in  one  of  the  evening  papers, 
which  might  lead  to  other  notices.  "What  is  the 
name  of  this  gentleman?"     The  name  was  at  once 

[322] 


At  Last 

mentioned,  for  there  was  no  reason  that  I  knew  of, 
to  withhold  it.  But  instead  of  this  name  doing 
me  good,  as  I  then  expected,  it  probably  made  this 
case  of  mine  more  unfavorable ;  for  I  have  been  told 
since  that  this  gentleman  had  more  than  once  at- 
tacked the  ways  and  methods  of  this  Organisation, 
both  on  the  public  platform  and  through  the  press. 
Not  knowing  this,  at  that  time,  I  thought  it  ex- 
tremely fortunate  to  be  enabled  to  mention  the  fa- 
vour of  such  a  well  known  local  man.  All  went 
smoothly  for  a  while — although  I  could  plainly  see 
that  these  people  did  not  recognise  the  writing  of 
books  as  work,  and  were  plainly  disgusted  at  the 
folly  of  sacrificing  an  income  to  that  end.  Their 
next  question  confirmed  this  opinion — "Do  you  ever 
do  anything  for  a  living^"  I  mentioned  that  I  had 
tramped  the  country  as  a  hawker,  during  the  pre- 
vious summer,  but  had  suffered  through  want  of 
courage,  could  not  make  anything  like  a  living,  and 
was  often  in  want  and  without  shelter.  There  was 
a  rather  long  pause,  and  the  Charity  Organisation 
rose  slowly  to  their  feet,  and  said — "Mr.  Davies, 
do  you  really  expect  this  gentleman,  who  has  writ- 
ten to  us,  to  maintain  you*?  Is  there  anything  the 
matter  with  you^"  What  was  the  matter  with  me 
did  not  seem  to  escape  many  people,  and  it  was 
most  certainly  noted  by  the  smallest  toddler  that 
played  in  the  street,  but  the  Charity  Organisation 
did  not  think  proper  to  recognise  any  other  than  an 

[323] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

able  man,  strong  in  the  use  of  all  his  limbs.  "No," 
said  these  people,  "you  must  do  the  same  as  you 
did  last  summer;"  which,  in  other  words  was — go 
on  tramp,  starve,  and  be  shelterless  as  you  were  be- 
fore. And  then  in  the  deep  silence  which  followed, 
for  I  was  speechless  with  indignation,  a  voice  soft 
and  low,  but  emphatic  and  significant,  said — "We 
strongly  advise  you  to  do  this,  but  you  really  must 
not  write  any  more  begging  letters.  Mr.  Davies, 
we  do  not  consider  ourselves  justified  in  putting  your 
case  before  the  committee."  That  ended  the  inter- 
view, and  I  left  them  with  the  one  sarcastic  remark, 
which  I  could  not  keep  unsaid,  "that  I  had  not  come 
there  with  any  great  hopes  of  receiving  benefit,  and 
that  I  was  not  leaving  greatly  disappointed  at  this 
result."  These  people  passed  judgment  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  were  so  confident  that  they  did  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  call  at  the  Farmhouse  for  the 
opinion  of  a  man  who  had  known  me  for  a  considera- 
ble time.  No  doubt  they  had  made  another  mistake. 
For,  some  time  before  this,  an  old  pensioner,  an  old 
lodger  of  the  Farmhouse,  had  interviewed  these  peo- 
ple, telling  them  a  story  of  poverty,  and  of  starving 
wife  and  children.  The  story  was  a  fabrication 
from  beginning  to  end,  yet  they  assisted  this  man 
on  his  bare  word  to  the  extent  of  ten  shillings,  so 
as  to  enable  him  to  lie  about  the  Farmhouse  drunk 
for  several  days.  Then,  some  days  after  this,  the 
Charity  Organisation  called  at  the  Farmhouse  to  see 

[324] 


At  Last 

the  manager,  and  to  make  enquiries  of  this  man  whom 
they  had  so  mysteriously  befriended.  "What," 
cried  that  gentleman,  "you  have  assisted  this 
drunken  fellow  on  his  bare  word,  and  when  I  send 
cases  to  you,  that  I  know  are  deserving,  you  sternly 
refuse  to  entertain  them."  Perhaps  it  was  this  in- 
stance, fresh  in  their  minds,  which  gave  them  an 
idea  that  no  good  could  come  out  of  the  Farmhouse. 
Yet,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  the  object  of  these 
people  was  not  so  much  to  do  good,  but  to  prevent 
good  from  being  done ;  for  here,  for  the  second  time, 
they  stepped  between  me  and  one  who  might  have 
rendered  me  some  aid.  What  I  found  the  most 
distasteful  part  of  their  system  was  the  way  in 
which  they  conceal  the  name  of  a  would-be  bene- 
factor. I  had  sent  six  books,  three  to  men  and 
three  to  women.  One  man  had  replied  with  a  kind 
encouraging  letter  and  the  price  of  the  book  en- 
closed, and  one  of  the  two  others  had  written  to 
the  Organisation,  but,  on  no  account,  would  they 
mention  his  name.  Now,  when  these  people  answer 
a  letter  of  enquiry,  they  have  no  other  option  than 
to  say  one  of  two  things — either  that  the  applicant 
is  an  impostor,  and  deserves  no  notice,  or  that  the 
case  is  genuine  and  deserving  consideration.  They, 
of  course,  answered  in  the  former  strain,  withhold- 
ing the  gentleman's  name,  so  as  to  leave  no  oppor- 
tunity to  vindicate  one's  character. 

The  interference  of  these  people  put  me  on  my 
[325] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

mettle,  and  I  was  determined  not  to  follow  their 
advice  and  tramp  through  another  hard  winter.  I 
had  something  like  three  shillings,  at  the  time  of 
this  interview;  so,  buying  two  shillings'  worth  of 
stamps,  I  posted  a  dozen  books  that  very  night, 
being  still  warm  with  resentment.  The  result  of 
these  were  four  kind  letters,  each  containing  the 
price  of  the  book.  Only  one  or  two  were  returned 
to  me,  whether  purchased  or  not,  which  was  done 
at  my  own  wish.  Before  I  again  became  penniless, 
off  went  another  dozen.  In  this  way  I  disposed  of 
some  sixty  copies,  with  more  or  less  success;  some 
of  these  well  known  people  receiving  the  book  as 
an  unacknowledged  gift,  and  others  quickly  for- 
warding the  price  of  the  same.  The  strangest  part 
of  this  experience  was  this:  that  people,  from 
whom  I  expected  sympathy,  having  seen  their 
names  so  often  mentioned  as  champions  of  unfortu- 
nate cases,  received  the  book  as  a  gift;  whilst 
others,  from  whom  I  had  less  hope,  because  they 
appeared  sarcastic  and  unfeeling  in  their  writings, 
returned  the  price  of  the  work.  The  Manager  was 
astonished  at  my  receiving  no  answer  from  two  or 
three  well  known  people  whom  he  had  recommended. 
At  last,  after  disposing  of  sixty  copies  in  this  way, 
two  well  known  writers  corresponded  with  me,  one 
of  whom  I  saw  personally,  and  they  both  promised 
to  do  something  through  the  press.  Relying  on 
these  promises,  I  sent  away  no  more  copies,  being 

[326] 


At  Last 

enabled  to  wait  a  week  or  two  owing  to  the  kind- 
ness of  a  playwriter,  an  Irishman,  as  to  whose  men- 
tal qualification  the  world  is  divided,  but  whose 
heart  is  unquestionably  great.  Private  recognition 
was  certainly  not  long  forthcoming,  which  was  soon 
followed  by  a  notice  in  a  leading  daily  paper,  and 
in  a  literary  paper  of  the  same  week.  These  led 
to  others,  to  interviews  and  a  kindness  that  more 
than  made  amends  for  past  indifference.  It  was 
all  like  a  dream.  In  my  most  conceited  moments 
I  had  not  expected  such  an  amount  of  praise,  and 
they  gathered  in  favour  as  they  came,  until  one 
wave  came  stronger  than  the  others  and  threw  me 
breathless  of  all  conceit,  for  I  felt  myself  unworthy 
of  it,  and  of  the  wonderful  sea  on  which  I  had 
embarked.  Sleep  was  out  of  the  question,  and  new 
work  was  impossible.  What  surprised  me  agree- 
ably was  the  reticence  of  my  fellow  lodgers,  who 
all  knew,  but  mentioned  nothing  in  my  hearing 
that  was  in  any  way  disconcerting.  They  were, 
perhaps,  a  little  less  familiar,  but  showed  not  the 
least  disrespect  in  their  reserve,  as  would  most  cer- 
tainly have  been  the  case  if  I  had  succeeded  to  a  peer- 
age or  an  immense  fortune.  The  lines  on  Irish 
Tim,  which  were  several  times  quoted,  were  a 
continual  worry  to  me,  thinking  some  of  the  more 
waggish  lodgers  would  bring  them  to  his  notice. 
Poor  Tim,  no  doubt,  would  have  sulked,  resenting 
this  publicity,  but,  if  the  truth  were  known,  I  would 

[327] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

as  soon  do  Tim  a  good  turn  as  any  other  man  in  the 
Farmhouse.  Boozy  Bob,  I  suppose,  had  been 
shown  his  name  in  print;  but  Bob  thought  it  a 
great  honour  to  be  called  Boozy;  so,  when  he  stood 
drunk  before  me,  with  his  face  beaming  with  smiles 
of  gratitude  for  making  use  of  his  name,  at  the 
same  time  saying — "Good  evening,  Mr.  Davies,  how 
are  you*?" — I  at  once  understood  the  meaning  of 
this  unusual  civility,  and  we  both  fell  a-laughing, 
but  nothing  more  was  said.  What  a  lot  of  decent, 
honest  fellows  these  were:  "You  must  not  be  sur- 
prised," said  a  gentleman  to  me,  at  that  time,  "to 
meet  less  sincere  men  than  these  in  other  walks  of 
life."  I  shall  consider  myself  fortunate  in  not 
doing  so. 


[328] 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

SUCCESS 

HOWEVER  much  cause  I  may  have  at  some 
future  date  to  complain  of  severe  criticism, 
I  have  certainly  no  complaint  up  to  the 
present  against  any  connected  with  the  making  of 
books.  Some  half  a  dozen  lines  of  work  were  sub- 
mitted to  publishers,  and  three  times  I  received 
letters  with  a  view  to  publication,  which,  of  course, 
failed  through  the  want  of  friends  to  assist  me. 
Knowing  how  rough  and  unequal  the  work  was,  and 
that  critics  could  find — if  so  inclined — plenty  to 
justify  extreme  severity,  has  undeceived  me  as  to 
my  former  unreasonable  opinion,  that  critics  were 
more  prone  to  cavil  than  to  praise.  I  would  like 
it  to  be  understood  that  I  say  this  without  bidding 
for  any  future  indulgence;  for  I  am  thankful  to  any 
man  who  will  show  me  my  faults,  and  am  always 
open  to  advice. 

As  I  have  said,  the  first  notice  appeared  in  a 
leading  daily  paper,  a  full  column,  in  which  I  saw 
myself  described,  a  rough  sketch  of  the  ups  and 
downs  of  my  life,  in  short  telling  sentences,  with 

[329] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

quotations  from  my  work.  The  effect  of  this  was 
almost  instantaneous,  for  correspondence  immedi- 
ately followed.  Letters  came  by  every  post.  Of 
course,  all  my  thoughts  had  been  concentrated  on 
the  reading  world,  so  that  I  was  much  surprised 
when  two  young  men  came  to  the  house  and  re- 
quested a  photo  for  an  illustrated  paper.  I  could 
not  oblige  them  at  that  moment,  but  with  a  heart 
overflowing  with  gratitude  was  persuaded  to  accom- 
pany them  at  once  to  the  nearest  photographer, 
now  that  interest  was  at  its  high  point.  "Now," 
said  one  of  these  young  men,  when  I  was  on  my 
way  with  them,  delighted  with  this  mission — "now, 
if  you  could  give  me  a  few  lines  on  the  war  in  the 
East,  to  go  with  your  photograph,  it  would  be  of 
much  greater  interest  to  the  public."  Not  caring 
to  blow  the  froth  off  my  mind  in  this  indifferent 
manner,  and  feeling  too  conscientious  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  public  interest  by  writing  in  such  haste, 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  appeared  a  difficult  task 
— I  quickly  turned  the  subject  to  other  matters, 
thinking  he  would  soon  forget  his  request.  But  it 
was  of  no  use;  for,  every  other  step  or  two,  he 
wanted  to  be  informed  whether  I  was  concentrating 
my  mind  on  the  war.  At  last,  being  under  the 
impression  that  my  natural  reserve  and  feeble  at- 
tempts at  conversation  would  lead  him  to  believe 
that  something  was  being  done  in  that  direction,  I 
made    a   great   effort    to   become    voluble,    and,    I 

[330] 


Success 

believe,  succeeded  until  the  photograph  was  taken. 
When  I  left  him,  his  last  question  was — "What 
about  the   war^" 

The  next  morning,  after  the  last  mentioned 
episode,  being  Sunday,  I  was  enjoying  a  stroll 
through  the  city,  which  is  so  very  quiet  on  this  one 
morning  of  the  week;  and  was  thinking  of  nothing 
else  but  my  own  affairs,  more  especially  of  the 
photo  that  was  soon  to  appear.  The  street  was 
forsaken,  with  the  exception — yes,  there  they  were: 
two  men  with  a  camera,  and  both  of  them  looking 
my  way,  anxiously  awaiting  my  approach.  "This," 
I  said  to  myself,  "is  fame  with  a  vengeance."  I 
felt  a  little  mortification  at  being  expected  to  un- 
dergo this  operation  in  the  public  streets.  One  of 
these  photographers  quickly  stepped  forward  to 
meet  me,  and,  smiling  blandly,  requested  me  kindly 
to  stand  for  a  moment  where  I  was.  It  certainly 
shocked  and  mortified  me  more  to  learn  that  they 
desired  to  photograph  an  old  fashioned  dwelling 
of  brick  and  mortar,  and  that  they  considered  my 
presence  as  no  adornment  to  the  front. 

A  few  days  after  this  first  review,  a  critic  of 
fine  literature,  who  had  interested  himself  privately 
on  my  behalf,  sent  a  notice  to  a  weekly  literary 
paper;  and  it  was  the  respect  due  to  this  man's 
name  that  drew  the  attention  of  some  other  papers 
of  good  standing,  for  their  representatives  mentioned 
this  man's  name  with  every  respect,  knowing,   at 

[331] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

the  same  time,  that  he  would  not  waste  his  hours  on 
what  was  absolutely  worthless. 

What  kind  hearted  correspondents  I  had,  and 
what  offers  they  made,  what  questions  they  asked  I 
and  all  of  them  received  grateful  answers — with 
one  exception.  This  gentleman,  who  did  not 
require  a  book,  presumably  being  more  interested 
in  the  strange  conditions  under  which  I  had  lived 
and  worked,  offered  me  a  pleasant  home  in  the 
country,  where  I  could  cultivate  my  talents  sur- 
rounded with  a  little  more  comfort  and  quieter 
scenes.  The  letter  was  long,  delightful,  poetical, 
and  worked  warmly  on  my  imagination,  sentence 
for  sentence;  until  the  last  sentence  came  like  a 
douche  of  cold  water  on  a  warm  body — "Of  course," 
finished  this  gentleman,  "it  is  necessary  to  supply  me 
with  strict  references  as  to  honesty  and  respecta- 
bility." Where  was  I  to  get  these  ^  after  having 
failed  to  get  a  library  form  signed,  which  would 
entitle  me  to  borrow  books.  No  doubt  the  manager 
of  the  Farmhouse  would  have  willingly  done  the 
latter,  as  was  afterwards  done  by  him,  but  I  was 
then  under  the  impression  that  the  keeper  of  a 
lodging  house  was  ineligible  for  such  a  purpose, 
knowing  this  to  have  been  the  case  elsewhere. 
Where  could  I  obtain  these  references,  seeing  that 
I  knew  no  one  who  would  take  the  responsibility 
of  doing  such  a  petty  kindness  as  signing  a  library 
form?     This  gentleman's  letter,  I  need  scarcely  say, 

[332] 


Success 

remained  unanswered,  for  which,  I  believe,  none 
will  blame  me. 

Several  other  letters  were  received,  which  I  found 
extremely  difficult  to  answer.  One  addressed  me 
familiarly  in  rhyme,  beginning — "Dear  brother  poet, 
brother  Will;"  and  went  on  to  propose  that  we 
two  should  take  a  firm  stand  together,  side  by  side, 
to  the  everlasting  benefit  of  poetry  and  posterity. 

Another  had  written  verse,  and  would  be  glad  to 
find  a  publisher,  and  another  could,  and  would,  do 
me  many  a  good  turn,  if  I  felt  inclined  to  correct 
his  work,  and  to  add  lines  here  and  there  as  needed. 
Not  for  a  moment  would  I  hold  these  people  to 
ridicule,  but  it  brought  to  mind  that  I  was  without 
a  publisher  for  my  own  work,  and  I  believed,  in  all 
sincerity,  that  better  work  than  mine  might  go  beg- 
ging, as  it  often  had. 

In  the  main  my  correspondents  were  kind,  sym- 
pathetic and  sensible,  making  genuine  offers  of 
assistance,  for  which  I  thanked  them  with  all  my 
heart,  but  thought  myself  now  beyond  the  neces- 
sity of  accepting  them. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  man  in  a  common 
lodging  house  is  supposed  to  be  regarded  with  any 
special  favour.  The  common  kitchen  is  his  library, 
his  dining  room  and  his  parlour,  and  better  accom- 
modation cannot  be  expected  at  the  low  price  of 
fourpence  per  night.  We  are  all  equal,  without  a 
question  of  what  a  man's  past  may  have  been,  or 

[333] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

what  his  future  is  likely  to  realise.  Any  man  who 
puts  on  superior  airs  is  invariably  subjected  to  this 
sarcastic  enquiry — "How  much  do  you  pay?"  or 
the  incontrovertible  remark  that  one  man's  four- 
pence  is  as  good  as  another's.  The  Manager  has 
to  use  great  tact  in  not  indulging  in  too  long  a  con- 
versation with  one  particular  man,  and  a  lodger 
must  not  jeopardise  his  popularity  by  an  over- 
weening anxiety  to  exchange  civilities,  or  to  repose 
confidence  in  those  who  are  in  authority;  for  these 
lodgers  are  in  general  distrustful  and  suspicious. 
If  a  fish  porter — a  good  number  of  these  men  were 
here — was  warned  after  any  misconduct,  he  would 
turn  to  one  of  his  pals  and  say — "Billingsgate,  I 
see,  is  not  favoured  in  this  place."  And  if  a  paper- 
seller — of  which  there  were  about  an  equal  number 
— was  called  to  account  in  the  same  way,  his  remark 
would  be  that  had  he  been  a  fish  porter  the  mis- 
conduct would  have  been  overlooked.  Such  was 
the  state  of  feeling  in  the  Farmhouse,  although  the 
caretaker,  time  after  time,  almost  daily,  reiterated 
the  remark  that  one  man  was  as  good  as  another, 
and  that  no  distinction  was  made  between  the  two 
classes.  Knowing  this  state  of  feeling,  and  the 
child-like  distrust  and  jealousy  of  these  honest  fel- 
lows, it  was  no  wonder  that  I  felt  a  little  awkward 
at  the  change  of  circumstances;  for,  after  all,  I 
was  still  a  lodger,  and  paying  no  more  than  them 
for  the  same  conveniences.     In  spite  of  this,  I  don't 

[334] 


Success 

believe  I  suffered  the  least  in  popularity  when  the 
Manager,  determined  that  I  should  not  suffer  any 
longer  for  want  of  privacy  to  pursue  my  aims,  threw 
open  his  own  private  rooms  for  my  convenience. 
And,  every  time  I  took  advantage  of  his  kindness, 
the  Manager's  wife  would  take  advantage  of  this 
by  supplying  a  hot  dinner  or  tea,  as  the  hour  might 
be,  so  that  my  studies  might  not  be  interrupted, 
or  food  postponed  through  an  anxiety  to  perform  a 
certain  task. 

The  Manager  was  astonished  at  my  success,  and, 
after  he  had  read  several  notices,  it  certainly  must 
have  made  him  bitter  against  those  whom  he  had 
approached  on  my  behalf.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  must 
confess  to  failure,  in  your  case,  and  I  am  left  won- 
dering as  to  what  kind  of  cases  these  people  con- 
sider worthy  of  assistance."  The  man,  being  in 
a  subordinate  position,  dare  not  openly  speak  his 
thoughts,  or  appear  to  force  the  hands  of  those  rich 
visitors,  but  he  certainly  lost  no  opportunity  in  show- 
ing some  honest  Irish  blood  in  his  references  to 
the  Charity  Organisation.  "Miss  So  and  So  has 
been  here,"  said  he,  one  morning;  "and  I  lost  no 
time  in  relating  your  experience  with  the  Charity 
Organisation.  She  was  very  much  offended  and 
shocked,  and  she  has  now  gone  there  to  seek  some 
explanation."  "As  for  that,"  I  answered,  knowing 
these  people  had  all  the  power  to  make  good  their 
own  case,  and  that  I  would  not  be  called  upon  to 

[335] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

sift  the  false  from  the  true — "As  for  that,  this  lady 
will  return  satisfied,  as  you  will  see."  The  Manager 
did  not  altogether  believe  this,  saying  that  he 
thought  the  lady  in  question  was  not  a  blind  be- 
liever in  anything,  and  had  an  unusual  amount  of 
common  sense.  She  certainly  did  return  satisfied, 
saying  that  she  thought  they  were  justified  in  their 
conduct,  to  a  certain  extent.  On  being  questioned 
by  the  Manager,  who  claimed  it  justice  that  the 
truth  should  be  known,  she  said  that  she  dare  not 
make  public  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the  Society. 
I  am  now  giving  my  experiences  honestly  and 
truthfully,  and  thought  for  thought,  if  not  word  for 
word,  as  they  happened.  As  a  man  whose  ambition 
above  all  other  things  is  to  impress  every  one  fav- 
ourably, I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  my  work 
has  been  praised  far  more  than  its  worth,  owing 
to  having  met  the  writers  of  some  of  those  articles, 
and  impressing  them  in  a  simple,  honest  way.  I 
am  writing  these  experiences  with  a  full  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  knowing  that  many  people  will 
remark:  "Take  no  heed  of  that  man,  for  he  has 
not  a  good  word  for  any  one  or  anything;"  but, 
as  far  as  my  knowledge  and  experience  goes  it  is 
the  truth,  and,  if  that  seems  false  and  sensational, 
it  is  no  fault  of  mine.  Certainly  I  have  led  a  worth- 
less, wandering  and  lazy  life,  with,  in  my  early 
days,  a  strong  dislike  to  continued  labour,  and  inca- 
pacitated from  the  same  in  later  years.     No  person 

[336] 


Success 

seemed  inclined  to  start  me  on  the  road  to  fame, 
but,  as  soon  as  I  had  made  an  audacious  step  or 
two,  I  was  taken  up,  passed  quickly  on  from  stage 
to  stage,  and  given  free  rides  farther  than  I  expected. 


[337] 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A    HOUSE    TO    LET 

APPARENTLY  the  ill  luck  which  had  pur- 
sued me  so  close  in  the  past,  would  not 
let  me  escape  without  another  scratch.  In 
my  pleasant  walks  in  my  native  town,  my  eye  hap- 
pened to  fall  on  a  beautiful  house,  untenanted  in 
a  neighbourhood  so  quiet  that  every  other  house 
seemed  to  be  the  same.  The  very  name.  Woodland 
Road,  was  an  address  for  a  poet.  It  was  a  four 
storied  villa,  standing  on  the  top  of  a  hilly  road, 
from  where  one  could  see  on  a  clear  mistless  day 
the  meeting  of  the  Severn  and  the  Bristol  Channel ; 
and,  looking  in  another  direction,  could  see  the  whole 
town  without  hearing  one  of  its  many  voices.  Un- 
fortunately, I  coveted  this  house  as  a  tenant,  think- 
ing to  get  more  pleasure  in  one  glance  from  its 
top  window  on  a  bright  summer's  morning  than 
from  the  perusal  of  many  books.  Even  now,  in 
Winter,  it  presented  a  warm,  comfortable  appear- 
ance, with  its  evergreens  and  its  ivied  walls.  A 
tall,  spreading  rose  bush  stood  facing  its  lowest 
window,  and  I  imagined  the  bashful  red  roses  look- 

[338] 


A  House  to  Let 

ing  in  at  me,  as  though  I  would  not  come  out  of 
doors  to  please  them.  There  were  primrose  leaves 
green  on  the  rockery,  and  one  yellow  flower  still 
stood,  withered  and  bent,  in  this  last  week  of 
November.  There  was  also  an  apple  tree  and  a 
pear  tree,  so  that  the  front  of  the  house  was  both 
a  park  and  an  orchard.  Blackbirds,  robins,  and 
thrushes  visited  the  grounds  daily;  and  I  believe 
that  this  house  was  their  nearest  approach  to  town. 
It  only  wanted  a  few  touches  of  Spring,  and  here 
were  shady  nooks,  and  leafy  boughs  for  birds  to 
sing  unseeing  and  unseen.  Thinking  that  this 
beautiful  place  would  not  remain  untenanted  for 
long,  I  at  once  made  application,  being  recommended 
by  my  old  master  of  the  days  of  my  apprenticeship. 
Had  I  known  that  the  house  was  always  empty  and 
untenanted,  and  that  people  came  and  went  at  short 
notice,  I  should  certainly  not  have  been  in  such  a 
hurry  to  take  possession,  in  spite  of  its  natural 
beauties.  It  was  neither  haunted  by  ghosts  nor  ani- 
mal noises,  but  by  the  landlady,  who  lived  in  the 
next  house.  This  lady  I  did  not  see,  nor  have  I 
seen  her  up  to  the  present  time,  one  of  my  family 
having  taken  the  place  in  my  name.  Probably  if 
I  had  transacted  business  personally,  and  had  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  this  landlady's  face,  I  had  not 
coveted  the  house,  and,  according  to  a  right  judg- 
ment of  human  nature,  would  have  saved  myself 
the  money  and  disappointment  that  was  to  follow. 

[339] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

However,  the  house  became  mine,  and  I  received  the 
key  which  was  to  let  me  possess  this  house  and 
its  interesting  grounds. 

I  idled  a  week  about  town  descanting  with  great 
pleasure  on  the  beauties  of  my  future  home;  but 
I  was  somewhat  taken  by  surprise  at  the  unfavour- 
able reception  with  which  my  news  was  received. 
"Who  is  the  landlady^"  asked  one.  "Mrs.  S," 
I  answered;  "she  lives  next  door."  "It  is  very 
unfortunate,"  said  this  person,  "that  the  landlady 
lives  next  door."  "Every  one  can  please  them- 
selves," said  another,  "but  as  for  myself,  I  would 
never  dream  of  living  next  door  to  my  landlady." 
"What":  cried  another,  "the  landlady  lives  next 
door*?  What  a  great  pity,  to  be  sure."  Although 
the  last  named  depreciator  was  the  respectable 
wife  of  a  retired  tradesman,  and  had  given  her  own 
landlady  satisfaction  for  a  number  of  years ;  in  spite 
of  this,  I  was  highly  amused  at  these  remarks, 
taking  the  uncharitable  view  that  these  people  were 
really  not  so  respectable  as  they  seemed,  and  would 
not  be  allowed  to  live  under  the  watchful  eyes  of 
a  particular  person.  My  landlady,  I  thought,  be 
she  ever  so  watchful,  dare  not  interfere  without 
some  cause;  and,  as  the  house  must  needs  be  kept 
very  quiet  for  my  own  purpose  of  study,  noises 
that  are  not  allowed  to  reach  me  in  the  same  house, 
surely  will  not  be  able  to  reach  the  house  next 
door. 

[340] 


A  House  to  Let 

The  eventful  day  arrived,  and  I  gathered  together 
my  small  family,  one  from  her  limited  possession 
of  two  small  rooms,  being  very  pleased  to  have  me 
with  her,  which  could  not  otherwise  have  been. 
At  last  we  were  in  full  possession,  and  at  once 
proceeded  to  arrange  the  furniture,  and  to  make  the 
house  comfortable.  On  the  second  day  I  began  to 
work  in  earnest,  having  been  unsettled  and  indis- 
posed for  several  weeks.  When  I  came  downstairs 
to  dinner,  on  this  second  day,  I  was  informed  that 
the  landlady  had  already  been  there  to  say  that 
she  objected  to  us  keeping  animals.  On  being  told 
there  was  not  the  least  intention  of  doing  the  same, 
she  said  that  she  certainly  thought  such  was  our 
intention,  seeing  that  we  were  in  possession  of  wood, 
and  that  she  strongly  objected  to  any  other  than 
that  which  could  be  kept  indoors.  The  wood, 
which  had  caused  all  this  suspicion,  was  simply  a 
clothes  prop  and  three  shelves  which  had  not  yet 
been  removed  from  where  they  were  first  placed. 
I  laughed  heartily  at  this  unwarranted  interference, 
but  the  feminine  portion  of  the  family  strongly 
resented  it. 

The  third  day  I  continued  my  work,  the  others 
again  working  on  the  comfort  of  this  large  house; 
one  being  outside  trimming  the  evergreens,  and 
taking  a  general  pride  in  our  half  orchard  and  half 
park.  Ditto  the  third  day,  and  so  on  day  after 
day,  until  the  rent  became  due.     This  was  the  first 

[341] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

time  for  me  to  take  a  personal  hand  in  my  affairs, 
and,  when  the  agent  called,  I  thought  it  more  busi- 
ness like  to  put  in  an  appearance,  for  the  first  rent 
day,  at  least,  seeing  that  the  house  was  in  my  name, 
after  which  others  might  attend  to  it.  I  paid  the 
rent,  9s.  6d. — the  house,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  fine 
large  villa,  and  was  really  worth  fifteen  or  sixteen 
shillings  a  week;  and  this  small  amount  demanded 
for  it,  was  a  mystery  at  which  any  sensible  person 
would  have  sniffed.  This  agent  then  gave  me  a 
book,  with  the  rent  entered  to  my  account.  After 
this  he  handed  me  a  letter,  which,  said  he,  was  sent 
from  the  office.  Not  dreaming  of  its  contents,  I 
there  and  then  opened  this  letter,  and  to  my  aston- 
ishment saw  that  it  was  a  notice  to  quit  within  one 
week  of  that  date,  at  the  orders  of  Messrs.  H.  and 
B.,  her  solicitors.  This  notice  was  a  severe  blow, 
for,  up  till  then,  the  place  had  been  unsettled,  and 
we  had  only  been  enjoying  the  expectation  of  future 
comfort.  "Who,  or  what  does  this  lady  object  to^" 
I  asked  the  agent,  with  some  bitterness.  "I  need 
absolute  quiet  for  my  work,  and  the  amount  I  have 
done  in  the  past  week  proves  that  I  have  had  it. 
What  then  has  disturbed  my  landlady,  that  has  not 
interfered  with  my  work*?  To  make  a  person  suffer 
the  expense,  and  worse,  the  worry  of  moving  twice 
in  a  few  days,  should  not  be  done  without  due 
consideration,  and  some  definite  reason."  But  the 
agent  knew  or  pretended  to  know  nothing  of  the 

[342] 


A  House  to  Let 

affair,  and  he  left  me  at  the  door,  feeling  more 
shame  and  mortification  than  I  have  ever  felt  before. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  pack  up  again 
as  soon  as  possible  and  to  seek  fresh  quarters,  which, 
after  great  difficulty,  were  found. 

To  think  that  I  have  lived  thirty-five  years,  and 
not  to  have  known  the  folly  and  ill  policy  of  living 
next  door  to  one's  landlady!  But  this  particular 
landlady  is  eccentric,  can  afford  to  be  independent, 
and  I  verily  believe  she  would  not  sell  a  house  for 
even  twice  its  worth  if  she  thought  the  would-be 
purchaser  to  be  a  man  incapable  of  taking  charge  of 
property.  Her  house  is  more  often  unoccupied  than 
let,  as  I  have  since  been  told,  for  the  most  respect- 
able people  cannot  live  near  her.  Apparently  this 
is  the  case,  for  the  house  was  still  empty  several 
weeks  after  I  had  quit,  in  spite  of  its  unreasonably 
low  rent  and  the  beauty  of  its  surroundings. 

A  robin  came  to  the  back  door  every  morning 
and  was  fed.  Perhaps  this  time  wasted  on  the 
robin  might  have  been  better  employed  in  winning 
the  good  graces  of  the  landlady. 

What  a  pity  such  an  eccentric  person  should  have 
such  power  to  receive  people  as  tenants  for  a  few 
days,  and  then  to  dismiss  them  without  warning  or 
giving  any  definite  reason.  And  what  a  harvest  her 
idiosyncrasies  must  be  to  her  solicitors.  They  even 
followed  me  up  and  demanded  another  week's  rent, 
after  the  expense  of  moving  to  the  top  of  a  high 

[343] 


The  Autobiography  of  a  Super-Tramp 

hill  and  down  again,  which,  up  to  the  present,  I 
have  not  paid.  A  lawyer  would  certainly  be  a 
lucky  man  to  be  allowed  control  over  the  interests 
of  half  a  dozen  such  clients,  and  he  could  dress  his 
wife  and  daughters  in  silk,  and  thoroughly  educate 
his  sons  on  his  makings.  I  have  been  told  that  she 
is  a  deeply  religious  woman.  Therefore,  although 
she  said  in  her  own  heart — "on  no  account  can 
these  people  live  in  a  villa  of  mine,"  she  must  have 
prayed  that  room  would  be  reserved  for  us  in  the 
many  mansions  above. 

This  chapter  should  justify  itself  for  the  sake  of 
the  worldly  wisdom  contained  in  the  simple  words 
— "Never  live  in  a  house  next  door  to  your  land- 
lady or  landlord;"  which  deserves  to  become  a 
proverb.  Many  people  might  not  consider  this 
warning  necessary,  but  the  hint  may  be  useful  to 
poor  travellers  like  myself  who,  sick  of  wandering, 
would  settle  down  to  the  peace  and  quiet  of  after 
days. 

Such  has  been  my  life,  rolling  unseen  and  un- 
noted, like  a  dark  planet  among  the  bright,  and  at 
last  emitting  a  few  rays  of  its  own  to  show  its 
whereabouts,  which  were  kindly  received  by  many 
and  objected  to  by  a  few,  among  the  latter  being 
my  late  landlady. 

Perhaps  I  am  deceived  as  to  the  worth  or  worth- 
lessness  of  certain  people,  but  I  have  given  my 
experience  of  them  without  exaggeration,  describing 

[344] 


A  House  to  Let 

as  near  as  memory  makes  it  possible,  things  exactly 
as  they  occurred.  I  have  made  no  effort  to  conceal 
my  gratitude  for  those  who  have  befriended  me, 
and  I  have  made  every  effort  to  conceal  bitterness 
against  enemies.  If  I  have  not  succeeded  in  the 
latter  it  is  with  regret,  but  if  I  have  failed  in  the 
former,  for  that  am  I  more  truly  and  deeply  sorry. 
If  I  have  appeared  ignorant  of  certain  matters  I 
claim  exception  from  sin  through  a  lack  of  prejudice 
which  is,  after  all,  the  only  ignorance  that  can  be 
honestly  named  with  sin. 

These  have  been  my  experiences;  and  if  I  have 
not  omitted  to  mention  trouble  of  my  own  making, 
for  which  no  one  but  rtiyself  was  to  blame,  why 
should  I  omit  the  mention  of  others,  whom  I  blame 
for  hours  more  bitter *?  People  are  not  to  be  blamed 
for  their  doubts,  but  that  they  make  no  effort  to 
arrive  at  the  truth.  However  much  people  of  a 
higher  standing  may  doubt  the  veracity  of  certain 
matters,  I  have  the  one  consolation  to  know  that 
many  a  poor  man,  who  is  without  talent  or  means 
to  make  his  experiences  public,  knows  what  I  have 
written  to  be  the  truth.  It  is  but  a  poor  consolation, 
for  such  an  one  is  the  sufferer,  and  not  the  sup- 
porter, and  he  is  powerless  in  the  hands  of  a  stronger 
body. 

THE    END 

[3451 


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